NRLF 


288  CJKESST. 

on  both  sides,  and  that  the  entente  cordiale 
has  been  thoroughly  restored.  The  bullet 
—  which  it  is  said  played  a  highly  impor- 
tant part  in  the  subsequent  explanation, 
proving  to  have  come  from  a  revolver  fired 
by  some  outsider  —  has  been  extracted  from 
Mr.  McKinstry's  thigh,  and  he  is  doing 
well,  with  every  prospect  of  a  speedy  re- 
covery." 

Smiling,  albeit  not  uncomplacently,  at  this 
valuable  contribution  to  history  from  an  un- 
fettered press,  his  eye  fell  upon  the  next 
paragraph,  perhaps  not  so  complacently :  — 

"  Benjamin  Daubigny,  Esq.,  who  left 
town  for  Sacramento  on  important  busi- 
ness, not  entirely  unconnected  with  his  new 
interests  in  Indian  Springs,  will,  it  is  ru- 
mored, be  shortly  joined  by  his  wife,  who 
has  been  enabled  by  his  recent  good  fortune 
to  leave  her  old  home  in  the  States,  and 
take  her  proper  proud  position  at  his  side. 
Although  personally  unknown  to  Indian 
Springs,  Mrs.  Daubigny  is  spoken  of  as  a 
beautiful  and  singularly  accomplished  wo- 
man, and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  her  hus- 
band's interests  will  compel  them  to  abandon 
Indian  Springs  for  Sacramento  as  a  future 
residence.  Mr.  Daubigny  was  accompanied 


CRESS  Y.  289 

by  his  private  secretary  Rupert,  the  eldest 
son  of  H.  G.  Filgee,  Esq.,  who  has  been  a 
promising  graduate  of  the  Indian  Spring 
Academy,  and  offers  a  bright  example  to 
the  youth  of  this  district.  We  are  happy 
to  learn  that  his  younger  brother  is  recover- 
ing rapidly  from  a  slight  accident  received 
last  week  through  the  incautious  handling 
of  firearms." 

The  master,  with  his  eyes  upon  the  paper, 
remained  so  long  plunged  in  a  reverie  that 
the  school-room  was  quite  filled  and  his  lit- 
tle flock  was  wonderingly  regarding  him  be- 
fore he  recalled  himself.  He  was  hurriedly 
reaching  his  hand  towards  the  bell  when  he 
was  attracted  by  the  rising  figure  of  Octa- 
via  Dean. 

"  Please,  sir,  you  did  n't  ask  if  we  had 
any  news !  " 

"  True  —  I  forgot,"  said  the  master  smil- 
ing. "  Well,  have  you  anything  to  tell 
us?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Cressy  McKinstry  has  left 
school." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  she 's  married." 

"  Married,"  repeated  the  master  with  an 
effort,  yet  conscious  of  the  eyes  concentrated 
v,  24  J— Bret  Harte 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA 

SANTA    CRUZ 


SANTA     CRUZ 


Gift  oi 
CABRILLO  COLLEGE 


'HOW   MUCH   IS   A  TRUE   STORY?" 


— Cressy 


"ARGONAUT    EDITION"    OF 
THE    WORKS    OF    BRET    HARTB 


CRESSY 

THE    TWINS     OF    TABLE    MOUNTAIN 

BY 

BRET   HARTE 

ILLUSTRATED 


P.    F.    COLLIER    &    SON 
NEW    YORK 


fublithed  under  tpeeial  arrangement  vtitA 
the  HouyfUon  Mijflin  Company 


COPYRIGHT  1889 
BY  BRET  HARTE 


COPYRIGHT  1907 

BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  COMPANY 
All  rights  reserved 


C7 


CKESSY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

As  the  master  of  the  Indian  Spring  school 
emerged  from  the  pine  woods  into  the  little 
clearing  before  the  schoolhouse,  he  stopped 
whistling,  put  his  hat  less  jauntily  on  his 
head,  threw  away  some  wild  flowers  he  had 
gathered  on  his  way,  and  otherwise  assumed 
the  severe  demeanor  of  his  profession  and 
his  mature  age  —  which  was  at  least  twenty. 
Not  that  he  usually  felt  this  an  assumption ; 
it  was  a  firm  conviction  of  his  serious  nature 
that  he  impressed  others,  as  he  did  himself, 
with  the  blended  austerity  and  ennui  of  deep 
and  exhausted  experience. 

The  building  which  was  assigned  to  him 
and  his  flock  by  the  Board  of  Education 
of  Tuolumne  County,  California,  had  been 
originally  a  church.  It  still  bore  a  faded 
odor  of  sanctity,  mingled,  however,  with  a 

later  and  slightly  alcoholic  breath  of  polit- 
v.  «4  A— Bret  Harte 


2  CRE88Y. 

ical  discussion,  the  result  of  its  weekly  occu- 
pation under  the  authority  of  the  Board  as  a 
Tribune  for  the  enunciation  of  party  prin- 
ciples and  devotion  to  the  Liberties  of  the 
People.  There  were  a  few  dog-eared  hymn- 
books  on  the  teacher's  desk,  and  the  black- 
board but  imperfectly  hid  an  impassioned 
appeal  to  the  citizens  of  Indian  Spring  to 
"  Rally  "  for  Stebbins  as  Supervisor.  The 
master  had  been  struck  with  the  size  of  the 
black  type  in  which  this  placard  was  printed, 
and  with  a  shrewd  perception  of  its  value 
to  the  round  wandering  eyes  of  his  smaller 
pupils,  allowed  it  to  remain  as  a  pleasing  ex- 
ample of  orthography.  Unfortunately,  al- 
though subdivided  and  spelt  by  them  in  its 
separate  letters  with  painful  and  perfect 
accuracy,  it  was  collectively  known  as 
"  Wally,"  and  its  general  import  productive 
of  vague  hilarity. 

Taking  a  large  key  from  his  pocket,  the 
master  unlocked  the  door  and  threw  it  open, 
stepping  back  with  a  certain  precaution  be- 
gotten of  his  experience  in  once  finding  a 
small  but  sociable  rattlesnake  coiled  up  near 
the  threshold.  A  slight  disturbance  which 
followed  his  intrusion  showed  the  value  of 
that  precaution,  and  the  fact  that  the  room 


CRES8Y.  8 

had  been  already  used  for  various  private 
and  peaceful  gatherings  of  animated  naturet 
An  irregular  attendance  of  yellow-birds  and 
squirrels  dismissed  themselves  hurriedly 
through  the  broken  floor  and  windows,  but  a 
golden  lizard,  stiffened  suddenly  into  stony 
fright  on  the  edge  of  an  open  arithmetic, 
touched  the  heart  of  the  master  so  strongly 
by  its  resemblance  to  some  kept-in  and  for- 
gotten scholar  who  had  succumbed  over  the 
task  he  could  not  accomplish,  that  he  was 
seized  with  compunction. 

Recovering  himself,  and  reestablishing,  as 
it  were,  the  decorous  discipline  of  the  room 
by  clapping  his  hands  and  saying  "  Sho  !  " 
he  passed  up  the  narrow  aisle  of  benches,  re- 
placing the  forgotten  arithmetic,  and  pick- 
ing up  from  the  desks  here  and  there  certain 
fragmentary  pieces  of  plaster  and  crumbling 
wood  that  had  fallen  from  the  ceiling,  as  if 
this  grove  of  Academus  had  been  shedding 
its  leaves  overnight.  When  he  reached  his 
own  desk  he  lifted  the  lid  and  remained  for 
some  moments  motionless,  gazing  into  it. 
His  apparent  meditation  however  was  simply 
the  combined  reflection  of  his  own  features 
in  a  small  pocket-mirror  in  its  recesses  and  a 
perplexing  doubt  in  his  mind  whether  the 


4  CRESS  T. 

sacrifice  of  his  budding  moustache  was  not 
essential  to  the  professional  austerity  of  his 
countenance.  But  he  was  presently  aware 
of  the  sound  of  small  voices,  light  cries,  and 
brief  laughter  scattered  at  vague  and  remote 
distances  from  the  schoolhouse  —  not  unlike 
the  birds  and  squirrels  he  had  just  dispos- 
sessed. He  recognized  by  these  signs  that 
it  was  nine  o'clock,  and  his  scholars  were 
assembling. 

They  came  in  their  usual  desultory  fash- 
ion —  the  fashion  of  country  school-children 
the  world  over  —  irregularly,  spasmodically, 
and  always  as  if  accidentally ;  a  few  hand- 
in-hand,  others  driven  ahead  of  or  dropped 
behind  their  elders;  some  in  straggling 
groups  more  or  less  coherent  and  at  times 
only  connected  by  far-off  intermediate  voices 
scattered  on  a  space  of  half  a  mile,  but  never 
quite  alone;  always  preoccupied  by  some- 
thing else  than  the  actual  business  on  hand ; 
appearing  suddenly  from  ditches,  behind 
trunks,  and  between  fence-rails  ;  cropping 
up  in  unexpected  places  along  the  road  after 
vague  and  purposeless  detours  —  seemingly 
going  anywhere  and  everywhere  but  to 
school !  So  unlooked-for,  in  fact,  was  their 
final  arrival  that  the  master,  who  had  a  few 


CRE8ST  5 

moments  before  failed  to  descry  a  single  torn 
straw  hat  or  ruined  sun -bonnet  above  his 
visible  horizon,  was  always  startled  to  find 
them  suddenly  under  his  windows,  as  if,  like 
the  birds,  they  had  alighted  from  the  trees. 
Nor  was  their  moral  attitude  towards  their 
duty  any  the  more  varied ;  they  always  ar- 
rived as  if  tired  and  reluctant,  with  a  doubt- 
ing sulkiness  that  perhaps  afterwards  beamed 
into  a  charming  hypocrisy,  but  invariably 
temporizing  with  their  instincts  until  the 
last  moment,  and  only  relinquishing  possible 
truancy  on  the  very  threshold.  Even  after 
they  were  marshalled  on  their  usual  benches 
they  gazed  at  each  other  every  morning  with 
a  perfectly  fresh  astonishment  and  a  daily 
recurring  enjoyment  of  some  hidden  joke  in 
this  tremendous  rencontre. 

It  had  been  the  habit  of  the  master  to 
utilize  these  preliminary  vagrancies  of  his 
little  flock  by  inviting  them  on  assembling 
to  recount  any  interesting  incident  of  their 
journey  hither ;  or  failing  this,  from  their 
not  infrequent  shyness  in  expressing  what 
had  secretly  interested  them,  any  event  that 
had  occurred  within  their  knowledge  since 
they  last  met.  He  had  done  this,  partly  to 
give  them  time  to  recover  themselves  in  that 


6  CRES8T. 

more  formal  atmosphere,  and  partly,  I  fear, 
because,  notwithstanding  his  conscientious 
gravity,  it  greatly  amused  him.  It  also  di- 
verted them  from  their  usual  round -eyed, 
breathless  contemplation  of  himself  —  a  reg- 
ular morning  inspection  which  generally  em- 
braced every  detail  of  his  dress  and  appear- 
ance, and  made  every  change  or  deviation 
the  subject  of  whispered  comment  or  stony 
astonishment.  He  knew  that  they  knew  him 
more  thoroughly  than  he  did  himself,  and 
shrank  from  the  intuitive  vision  of  these 
small  clairvoyants. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  master  gravely. 

There  was  the  usual  interval  of  bashful 
hesitation,  verging  on  nervous  hilarity  or 
hypocritical  attention.  For  the  last  six 
months  this  question  by  the  master  had  been 
invariably  received  each  morning  as  a  veiled 
pleasantry  which  might  lead  to  baleful  in- 
formation or  conceal  some  query  out  of  the 
dreadful  books  before  him.  Yet  this  very 
element  of  danger  had  its  fascinations. 
Johnny  Filgee,  a  small  boy,  blushed  vio- 
lently, and,  without  getting  up,  began  hur- 
riedly in  a  high  key,  "  Tige  ith  got,"  and 
then  suddenly  subsided  into  a  whisper. 

"  Speak  up,  Johnny,'*  said  the  master  en- 
couragingly. 


CRE88Y.  7 

"  Please,  sir,  it  ain't  anythin'  he 's  seed  — 
nor  any  real  news,s'  said  Rupert  Filgee,  his 
elder  brother,  rising  with  family  concern 
and  frowning  openly  upon  Johnny ;  "  it 's 
jest  his  foolishness ;  he  oughter  be  licked." 
Finding  himself  unexpectedly  on  his  feet, 
and  apparently  at  the  end  of  a  long  speech, 
he  colored  also,  and  then  said  hurriedly, 
"Jimmy  Snyder — he  seed  suthin*.  Ask 
him  I "  and  sat  down  —  a  recognized  hero. 

Every  eye,  including  the  master's,  was 
turned  on  Jimmy  Snyder.  But  that  youth- 
ful observer,  instantly  diving  his  head  and 
shoulders  into  his  desk,  remained  there  gur- 
gling as  if  under  water.  Two  or  three  near- 
est him  endeavored  with  some  struggling 
to  bring  him  to  an  intelligible  surface  again. 
The  master  waited  patiently.  Johnny  Fil- 
gee took  advantage  of  the  diversion  to  begin 
again  in  a  high  key,  "  Tige  ith  got  thix," 
and  subsided. 

"  Come,  Jimmy,"  said  the  master,  with 
a  touch  of  peremptoriness.  Thus  adjured, 
Jimmy  Snyder  came  up  glowingly,  and  brist- 
ling with  full  stops  and  exclamation  points. 
"Seed  a  black  b'ar  comin'  outer  Daves' 
woods,"  he  said  excitedly.  "  Nigh  to  me  ez 
you  be.  'N  big  ez  a  hoss ;  'n  snarlin'  I  'n 


8  C RE 8 ST. 

snappin' !  —  like  gosh !  Kem  along  —  ker 
—  clump  torords  me.  Reckoned  he  'd  skeer 
me !  Did  n't  skeer  me  worth  a  cent.  I 
heaved  a  rock  at  him  —  I  did  now  !  "  (in  de- 
fiance of  murmurs  of  derisive  comment) — 
"  'n  he  slid.  Ef  he  'd  kern  up  f  urder  I  'd  hev 
up  with  my  slate  and  swotted  him  over  the 
snoot  —  bet  your  boots  !  " 

The  master  here  thought  fit  to  interfere, 
and  gravely  point  out  that  the  habit  of  strik- 
ing bears  as  large  as  a  horse  with  a  school- 
slate  was  equally  dangerous  to  the  slate 
(which  was  also  the  property  of  Tuolumne 
County)  and  to  the  striker;  and  that  the 
verb  "  to  swot "  and  the  noun  substantive 
"  snoot "  were  likewise  indefensible,  and  not 
to  be  tolerated.  Thus  admonished  Jimmy 
Snyder,  albeit  unshaken  in  his  faith  in  his 
own  courage,  sat  down. 

A  slight  pause  ensued.  The  youthful 
Filgee,  taking  advantage  of  it,  opened  in  a 
higher  key,  "  Tige  ith  "  —  but  the  master's 
attention  was  here  diverted  by  the  searching 
eyes  of  Octavia  Dean,  a  girl  of  eleven,  who 
after  the  fashion  of  her  sex  preferred  a  per- 
sonal recognition  of  her  presence  before  she 
spoke.  Succeeding  in  catching  his  eye,  she 
threw  back  her  long  hair  from  her  shoulders 


CRESS  Y.  9 

with  an  easy  habitual  gesture,  rose,  and  with 
a  faint  accession  of  color  said  : 

"Cressy  McKinstry  came  home  from 
Sacramento.  Mrs.  McKinstry  told  mother 
she  's  comin'  back  here  to  school." 

The  master  looked  up  with  an  alacrity  per- 
haps inconsistent  with  his  cynical  austerity. 
Seeing  the  young  girl  curiously  watching 
him  with  an  expectant  smile,  he  regretted  it. 
Cressy  McKinstry,  who  was  sixteen  years 
old,  had  been  one  of  the  pupils  he  had  found 
at  the  school  when  he  first  came.  But  as  he 
had  also  found  that  she  was  there  in  the  ex- 
traordinary attitude  of  being  "  engaged "  to 
one  Seth  Davis,  a  fellow-pupil  of  nineteen, 
and  as  most  of  the  courtship  was  carried  on 
freely  and  unceremoniously  during  school- 
hours  with  the  full  permission  of  the  master's 
predecessor,  the  master  had  been  obliged  to 
point  out  to  the  parents  of  the  devoted 
couple  the  embarrassing  effects  of  this  asso- 
ciation on  the  discipline  of  the  school.  The 
result  had  been  the  withdrawal  of  the  lovers, 
and  possibly  the  good -will  of  the  parents. 
The  return  of  the  young  lady  was  conse- 
quently a  matter  of  some  significance.  Had 
the  master's  protest  been  accepted,  or  had 
the  engagement  itself  been  broken  off? 


10 

Either  was  not  improbable.  His  momentary 
loss  of  attention  was  Johnny  Filgee's  great 
gain. 

"  Tige,"  said  Johnny,  with  sudden  and 
alarming  distinctness,  "  ith  got  thix  pupths 
—  mothly  yaller." 

In  the  laugh  which  followed  this  long 
withheld  announcement  of  an  increase  in  the 
family  of  Johnny's  yellow  and  disreputable 
setter  "Tiger,"  who  usually  accompanied 
him  to  school  and  howled  outside,  the  master 
joined  with  marked  distinctness.  Then  he 
said,  with  equally  marked  severity,  "  Books ! " 
The  little  levee  was  ended,  and  school  began. 

It  continued  for  two  hours  with  short 
sighs,  corrugations  of  small  foreheads,  the 
complaining  cries  and  scratchings  of  slate 
pencils  over  slates,  and  other  signs  of  minor 
anguish  among  the  more  youthful  of  the 
flock ;  and  with  more  or  less  whisperings, 
movements  of  the  lips,  and  unconscious 
soliloquy  among  the  older  pupils.  The  mas- 
ter moved  slowly  up  and  down  the  aisle  with 
a  word  of  encouragement  or  explanation  here 
and  there,  stopping  with  his  hands  behind 
him  to  gaze  abstractedly  out  of  the  windows 
to  the  wondering  envy  of  the  little  ones.  A 
faint  hum,  as  of  invisible  insects,  gradually 


CBESST.  11 

pervaded  the  school;  the  more  persistent 
droning  of  a  large  bee  had  become  danger- 
ously soporific.  The  hot  breath  of  the  pines 
without  had  invaded  the  doors  and  windows ; 
the  warped  shingles  and  weather-boarding  at 
times  creaked  and  snapped  under  the  rays 
of  the  vertical  and  unclouded  sun.  A  gentle 
perspiration  broke  out  like  a  mild  epidemic 
in  the  infant  class ;  little  curls  became  damp, 
brief  lashes  limp,  round  eyes  moist,  and 
small  eyelids  heavy.  The  master  himself 
started,  and  awoke  out  of  a  perilous  dream 
of  other  eyes  and  hair  to  collect  himself 
severely.  For  the  irresolute,  half-embar- 
rassed, half-lazy  figure  of  a  man  had  halted 
doubtingly  before  the  porch  and  open  door. 
Luckily  the  children,  who  were  facing  the 
master  with  their  backs  to  the  entrance,  did 
not  see  it. 

Yet  the  figure  was  neither  alarming  nor 
unfamiliar.  The  master  at  once  recognized 
it  as  Ben  Dabney,  otherwise  known  as 
"  Uncle  Ben,"  a  good-humored  but  not  over- 
bright  miner,  who  occupied  a  small  cabin  on 
an  unambitious  claim  in  the  outskirts  of 
Indian  Spring.  His  avuncular  title  was 
evidently  only  an  ironical  tribute  to  his 
amiable  incompetency  and  heavy  good-na- 


12  CRESBT.  • 

ture,  for  he  was  still  a  young  man  with  no 
family  ties,  and  by  reason  of  his  singular 
shyness  not  even  a  visitor  in  the  few  fami- 
lies of  the  neighborhood.  As  the  master 
looked  up,  he  had  an  irritating  recollection 
that  Ben  had  been  already  haunting  him  for 
the  last  two  days,  alternately  appearing  and 
disappearing  in  his  path  to  and  from  school 
as  a  more  than  usually  reserved  and  bashful 
ghost.  This,  to  the  master's  cynical  mind, 
clearly  indicated  that,  like  most  ghosts,  he 
had  something  of  essentially  selfish  import 
to  communicate.  Catching  the  apparition's 
half -appealing  eye,  he  proceeded  to  exorcise 
it  with  a  portentous  frown  and  shake  of  the 
head,  that  caused  it  to  timidly  wane  and  fall 
away  from  the  porch,  only  however  to  reap- 
pear and  wax  larger  a  few  minutes  later  at 
one  of  the  side  windows.  The  infant  class 
hailing  his  appearance  as  a  heaven-sent 
boon,  the  master  was  obliged  to  walk  to  the 
door  and  command  him  sternly  away,  when, 
retreating  to  the  fence,  he  mounted  the 
uppermost  rail,  and  drawing  a  knife  from 
his  pocket,  cut  a  long  splinter  from  the 
rail,  and  began  to  whittle  it  in  patient  and 
meditative  silence.  But  when  recess  was 
declared,  and  the  relieved  feelings  of  the 


CRESS  T.  13 

little  flock  had  vent  in  the  clearing  around 
the  schoolhouse,  the  few  who  rushed  to  the 
spot  found  that  Uncle  Ben  had  already  dis- 
appeared. Whether  the  appearance  of  the 
children  was  too  inconsistent  with  his  ghostly 
mission,  or  whether  his  heart  failed  him  at 
the  last  moment^  the  master  could  not  deter- 
mine. Yet,  distasteful  as  the  impending  in- 
terview promised  to  be,  the  master  was 
vaguely  and  irritatingly  disappointed. 

A  few  hours  later,  when  school  was  being 
dismissed,  the  master  found  Octavia  Dean 
lingering  near  his  desk.  Looking  into  the 
girl's  mischievous  eyes,  he  good-humoredly 
answered  their  expectation  by  referring  to 
her  morning's  news.  "  I  thought  Miss  Mc- 
Kinstry  had  been  married  by  this  time,"  he 
said  carelessly. 

Octavia,  swinging  her  satchel  like  a  censer, 
as  if  she  were  performing  some  act  of  thu- 
rification  over  her  completed  tasks,  replied 
demurely :  "  Oh  no !  dear  no !  —  not  that." 

"  So  it  would  seem,"  said  the  master. 

"  I  reckon  she  never  kalkilated  to,  either," 
continued  Octavia,  slyly  looking  up  from 
the  corner  of  her  lashes. 

"Indeed!" 

"  No  —  she  was  just  funning  with  Seth 
Davis  — that 'sail." 


14  CRESSY. 

"  Funning  with  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.    Kinder  foolin'  him,  you  know." 

"  Kinder  foolin'  him !  " 

For  an  instant  the  master  felt  it  his  pro- 
fessional duty  to  protest  against  this  most 
unmaidenly  and  frivolous  treatment  of  the 
matrimonial  engagement,  but  a  second  glance 
at  the  significant  face  of  his  youthful  audi- 
tor made  him  conclude  that  her  instinctive 
knowledge  of  her  own  sex  could  be  better 
trusted  than  his  imperfect  theories.  He 
turned  towards  his  desk  without  speaking. 
Octavia  gave  an  extra  swing  to  her  satchel, 
tossing  it  over  her  shoulder  with  a  certain 
small  coquettishness  and  moved  towards  the 
door.  As  she  did  so  the  infant  Filgee  from 
the  safe  vantage  of  the  porch  where  he  had 
lingered  was  suddenly  impelled  to  a  crown- 
ing audacity !  As  if  struck  with  an  original 
idea,  but  apparently  addressing  himself  to 
space,  he  cried  out,  "  Crethy  M'Kinthry 
likth  teacher,"  and  instantly  vanished. 

Putting  these  incidents  sternly  aside,  the 
master  addressed  himself  to  the  task  of  set- 
ting a  few  copies  for  the  next  day  as  the 
voices  of  his  departing  flock  faded  from  the 
porch.  Presently  a  silence  fell  upon  the 
little  school-house.  Through  the  open  door 


CSESSY.  15 

a  cool,  restful  breath  stole  gently  as  if  na- 
ture were  again  stealthily  taking  possession 
of  her  own.  A  squirrel  boldly  came  across 
the  porch,  a  fsw  twittering  birds  charging 
in  stopped,  beat  the  air  hesitatingly  for  a 
moment  with  their  wings,  and  fell  back  with 
bashfully  protesting  breasts  aslant  against 
the  open  door  and  the  unlooked-for  spec- 
tacle of  the  silent  occupant.  Then  there 
was  another  movement  of  intrusion,  but  this 
time  human,  and  the  master  looked  up  an- 
grily to  behold  Uncle  Ben. 

He  entered  with  a  slow  exasperating  step, 
lifting  his  large  boots  very  high  and  putting 
them  down  again  softly  as  if  he  were  afraid 
of  some  insecurity  in  the  floor,  or  figura- 
tively recognized  the  fact  that  the  pathways 
of  knowledge  were  thorny  and  difficult. 
Reaching  the  master's  desk  and  the  minis- 
tering presence  above  it,  he  stopped  awk- 
wardly, and  with  the  rim  of  his  soft  felt 
hat  endeavored  to  wipe  from  his  face  the 
meek  smile  it  had  worn  when  he  entered. 
It  chanced  also  that  he  had  halted  before 
the  minute  stool  of  the  infant  Filgee,  and  his 
large  figure  instantly  assumed  such  Brobding- 
nagian  proportions  in  contrast  that  he  became 
more  embarrassed  than  ever.  The  master 


16  CRESS  7. 

made  no  attempt  to  relieve  him,  but  regarded 
him  with  cold  interrogation. 

"  I  reckoned,"  he  began,  leaning  one  hand 
on  the  master's  desk  with  affected  ease,  as 
he  dusted  his  leg  with  his  hat  with  the  other, 
"  I  reckoned  —  that  is  —  I  allowed  —  I 
orter  say  —  that  I  'd  find  ye  alone  at  this 
time.  Ye  gin' rally  are,  ye  know.  It's  a 
nice,  soothin',  restful,  stoodious  time,  when 
a  man  kin,  so  to  speak,  run  back  on  his  ed- 
dication  and  think  of  all  he  ever  knowed. 
Ye  're  jist  like  me,  and  ye  see  I  sorter  spotted 
your  ways  to  onct." 

"  Then  why  did  you  come  here  this  morn- 
ing and  disturb  the  school?"  demanded  the 
master  sharply. 

"  That 's  so,  I  sorter  slipped  up  thar, 
did  n't  I  ?  "  said  Uncle  Ben  with  a  smile  of 
rueful  assent.  "  You  see  I  did  n't  allow  to 
come  in  then,  but  on'y  to  hang  round  a 
leetle  and  kinder  get  used  to  it,  and  it  to 
me." 

"  Used  to  what  ?  "  said  the  master  impa- 
tiently, albeit  with  a  slight  softening  at  his 
intruder's  penitent  expression. 

Uncle  Ben  did  not  reply  immediately,  but 
looked  around  as  if  for  a  seat,  tried  one  or 
two  benches  and  a  desk  with  his  large  hand 


GXEB8Y.  17 

as  if  testing  their  security,  and  finally  aban- 
doning the  idea  as  dangerous,  seated  himself 
on  the  raised  platform  beside  the  master's 
chair,  having  previously  dusted  it  with  the 
flap  of  his  hat.  Finding,  however,  that  the 
attitude  was  not  conducive  to  explanation, 
he  presently  rose  again,  and  picking  up  one 
of  the  school-books  from  the  master's  desk 
eyed  it  unskilfully  upside  down,  and  then 
said  hesitatingly,  — 

"  I  reckon  ye  ain't  usin'  Dobell's  'Rithme- 
tic  here?" 

"  No,"  said  the  master. 

"  That 's  bad.  'Pears  to  be  played  out  — 
that  Dobell  feller.  I  was  brought  up  on 
Dobell.  And  Parsings'  Grammar?  Ye 
don't  seem  to  be  a  using  Parsings'  Grammar 
either?" 

"  No,"  said  the  master,  relenting  still  more 
as  he  glanced  at  Uncle  Ben's  perplexed  face 
with  a  faint  smile. 

"  And  I  reckon  you  'd  be  saying  the  same 
of  Jones'  'Stronomy  and  Algebry  ?  Things 
hev  changed.  You  've  got  all  the  new  style 
here,"  he  continued,  with  affected  careless- 
ness, but  studiously  avoiding  the  master's 
eye.  "For  a  man  ez  wos  brought  up  on 
Parsings,  Dobell,  and  Jones,  thar  don't  ap- 
pear to  be  much  show  nowadays." 


18  CRES87. 

The  master  did  not  reply.  Observing 
several  shades  of  color  chase  each  other  on 
Uncle  Ben's  face,  he  bent  his  own  gravely 
over  his  books.  The  act  appeared  to  relieve 
his  companion,  who  with  his  eyes  still  turned 
towards  the  window  went  on : 

"  Ef  you  'd  had  them  books  —  which  you 
have  n't  —  I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  ask  you 
suthen'.  I  had  an  idea  of  —  of  —  sort  of  re- 
viewing my  eddication.  Kinder  going  over 
the  old  books  agin  —  jist  to  pass  the  time. 
Sorter  running  in  yer  arter  school  hours  and 
doin'  a  little  practising  eh?  You  looking 
on  me  as  an  extry  scholar  —  and  I  payin'  ye 
as  sich  —  but  keepin'  it  'twixt  ourselves,  you 
know  —  just  for  a  pastime,  eh?" 

As  the  master  smilingly  raised  his  head, 
he  became  suddenly  and  ostentatiously  at- 
tracted to  the  window. 

"  Them  jay  birds  out  there  is  mighty 
peart,  coming  right  up  to  the  school-house  I 
I  reckon  they  think  it  sort  o'  restful  too." 

"  But  if  you  really  mean  it,  could  n't  you 
use  these  books,  Uncle  Ben  ?  "  said  the  mas- 
ter cheerfully.  "  I  dare  say  there  's  little 
difference  —  the  principle  is  the  same,  you 
know." 

Uncle  Ben's  face,  which  had  suddenly 


CUES  ST.  19 

brightened,  as  suddenly  fell.  He  took  the 
book  from  the  master's  hand  without  meeting 
his  eyes,  held  it  at  arm's  length,  turned  it 
over  and  then  laid  it  softly  down  upon  the 
desk  as  if  it  were  some  excessively  fragile 
article.  "  Certingly,"  he  murmured,  with 
assumed  reflective  ease.  "  Certingly.  The 
principle 's  all  there."  Nevertheless  he  was 
quite  breathless  and  a  few  beads  of  perspira- 
tion stood  out  upon  his  smooth,  blank  fore- 
head. 

"  And  as  to  writing,  for  instance,"  contin- 
ued the  master  with  increasing  heartiness  as 
he  took  notice  of  these  phenomena,  "  you 
know  any  copy-book  will  do." 

He  handed  his  pen  carelessly  to  Uncle 
Ben.  The  large  hand  that  took  it  timidly 
not  only  trembled  but  grasped  it  with  such 
fatal  and  hopeless  unfarniliarity  that  the 
master  was  fain  to  walk  to  the  window  and 
observe  the  birds  also. 

"  They  're  mighty  bold  —  them  jays,"  said 
Uncle  Ben,  laying  down  the  pen  with  scru- 
pulous exactitude  beside  the  book  and  gazing 
at  his  fingers  as  if  he  had  achieved  a  miracle 
of  delicate  manipulation.  "  They  don't  seem 
to  be  af eared  of  nothing,  do  they?  " 

There  was   another  pause.     The  master 


20  CRES87. 

suddenly  turned  from  the  window.  "  I  tell 
you  what,  Uncle  Ben,"  he  said  with  prompt 
decision  and  unshaken  gravity,  '"  the  only 
thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  just  throw  over 
Dobell  and  Parsons  and  Jones  and  the  old 
quill  pen  that  I  see  you  're  accustomed  to, 
and  start  in  fresh  as  if  you  'd  never  known 
them.  Forget  'em  all,  you  know.  It  will 
be  mighty  hard  of  course  to  do  that,"  he 
continued,  looking  out  of  the  window,  "  but 
you  must  do  it." 

He  turned  back,  the  brightness  that  trans- 
figured Uncle  Ben's  face  at  that  moment 
brought  a  slight  moisture  into  his  own  eyes. 
The  humble  seeker  of  knowledge  said  hur- 
riedly that  he  would  try. 

"  And  begin  again  at  the  beginning,"  con- 
tinued the  master  cheerfully.  "  Exactly  like 
one  of  those  —  in  fact,  as  if  you  really  were 
a  child  again." 

"  That 's  so,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  rubbing  his 
hands  delightedly,  "  that 's  me !  Why,  that 's 
jest  what  I  was  sayin'  to  Roop  "  — 

"  Then  you  've  already  been  talking  about 
it?"  intercepted  the  master  in  some  surprise. 
"  I  thought  you  wanted  it  kept  secret  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,"  responded  Uncle  Ben  du- 
biously. "  But  you  see  I  sorter  agreed  with 


CKES87.  21 

Roop  Filgee  that  if  you  took  to  my  Ideas  and 
did  n't  object,  I  'd  give  him  two  bits  l  every 
time  he  'd  kem  here  and  help  me  of  an  arter- 
noon  when  you  was  away  and  kinder  stand 
guard  around  the  school -house,  you  know, 
so  as  to  keep  the  fellows  off.  And  Roop  's 
mighty  sharp  for  a  boy,  ye  know." 

The  master  reflected  a  moment  and  con- 
cluded that  Uncle  Ben  was  probably  right. 
Rupert  Filgee,  who  was  a  handsome  boy  of 
fourteen,  was  also  a  strongly  original  char- 
acter whose  youthful  cynicism  and  blunt, 
honest  temper  had  always  attracted  him.  He 
was  a  fair  scholar,  with  a  possibility  of  being 
a  better  one,  and  the  proposed  arrangement 
with  Uncle  Ben  would  not  interfere  with  the 
discipline  of  school  hours  and  might  help 
them  both.  Nevertheless  he  asked  good-hu- 
moredly,  "But  couldn't  you  do  this  more 
securely  and  easily  in  your  own  house  ?  I 
might  lend  you  the  books,  you  know,  and 
come  to  you  twice  a  week." 

Uncle  Ben's  radiant  face  suddenly  clouded. 
"  It  would  n't  be  exactly  the  same  kind  o' 
game  to  me  an'  Roop,"  he  said  hesitatingly. 
"  You  see  thar  's  the  idea  o'  the  school-house, 
ye  know,  and  the  restfulness  and  the  quiet, 
1  Two  bits,  i.  e.,  twenty-five  cents. 


22  CRESS  Y. 

and  the  gen'ral  air  o'  study.  And  the  boys 
around  town  ez  would  n't  think  nothin'  o' 
trapsen'  into  my  cabin  if  they  spotted  what 
I  was  up  to  thar,  would  never  dream  o'  hunt- 
ing me  here." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  master,  "  let  it  be 
here  then."  Observing  that  his  companion 
seemed  to  be  struggling  with  an  inarticulate 
gratitude  and  an  apparently  inextricable 
buckskin  purse  in  his  pocket,  he  added  qui- 
etly, "  I  '11  set  you  a  few  copies  to  commence 
with,"  and  began  to  lay  out  a  few  unfinished 
examples  of  Master  Johnny  Filgee's  scholas- 
tic achievements. 

"After  thanking  you,  Mr.  Ford,"  said 
Uncle  Ben,  faintly,  "ef  you'll  jest  kinder 
signify,  you  know,  what  you  consider  a 
fair"  — 

Mr.  Ford  turned  quickly  and  dexterously 
offered  his  hand  to  his  companion  in  such  a 
manner  that  he  was  obliged  to  withdraw  his 
own  from  his  pocket  to  grasp  it  in  return. 
uYou  're  very  welcome,"  said  the  master, 
"  and  as  I  can  only  permit  this  sort  of  thing 
gratuitously,  you  'd  better  not  let  me  know 
that  you  propose  giving  anything  even  to 
Rupert."  He  shook  Uncle  Ben's  perplexed 
hand  again,  briefly  explained  what  he  had 


CRE88Y.  23 

to  do,  and  saying  that  he  would  now  leave 
him  alone  a  few  minutes,  he  took  his  hat  and 
walked  towards  the  door. 

"Then  you  reckon,"  said  Uncle  Ben 
slowly,  regarding  the  work  before  him,  "  that 
I'd  better  jest  chuck  them  Dobell  fellers 
overboard  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  should,"  responded  the  mas- 
ter with  infinite  gravity. 

"And  sorter  waltz  in  fresh,  like  one  o' 
them  children?" 

"  Like  a  child,"  nodded  the  master  as  he 
left  the  porch. 

A  few  moments  later,  as  he  was  finishing 
his  cigar  in  the  clearing,  he  paused  to  glance 
in  at  the  school-room  window.  Uncle  Ben, 
stripped  of  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  with  his 
shirt-sleeves  rolled  up  on  his  powerful  arms, 
had  evidently  cast  Dobell  and  all  misleading 
extraneous  aid  aside,  and  with  the  perspira- 
tion standing  out  on  his  foolish  forehead, 
and  his  perplexed  face  close  to  the  master's 
desk,  was  painfully  groping  along  towards 
the  light  in  the  tottering  and  devious  tracks 
of  Master  Johnny  Filgee,  like  a  very  child 
indeed ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

As  the  children  were  slowly  straggling  to 
their  places  the  next  morning,  the  master 
waited  for  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  Ru- 
pert. That  beautiful  but  scarcely  amiable 
youth  was,  as  usual,  surrounded  and  im- 
peded by  a  group  of  his  small  female  ad- 
mirers, for  whom,  it  is  but  just  to  add,  he 
had  a  supreme  contempt.  Possibly  it  was 
this  healthy  quality  that  inclined  the  mas- 
ter towards  him,  and  it  was  consequently 
with  some  satisfaction  that  he  overheard 
fragments  of  his  openly  disparaging  com- 
ments upon  his  worshippers. 

"  There !  "  to  Clarinda  Jones,  "  don't  flop ! 
And  don't  you"  to  Octavia  Dean,  " go  on 
breathing  over  my  head  like  that.  If  there  's 
anything  I  hate  it 's  having  a  girl  breathing 
round  me.  Yes,  you  were !  I  felt  it  in 
my  hair.  And  you  too  —  you're  always 
snoopin'  and  snoodgin'.  Oh,  yes,  you  want 
to  know  why  I  've  got  an  extry  copy-book 
and  another  'Rithmetic,  Miss  Curiosity. 


CRESSY.  25 

Well,  what  would  you  give  to  know  ?  "Want 
to  see  if  they  're pretty  "  (with  infinite  scorn 
at  the  adjective).  "  No,  they  ain't  pretty. 
That 's  all  you  girls  think  about  —  what 's 
pretty  and  what  's  curious !  Quit  now ! 
Come!  Don't  ye  see  teacher  lookin*  at 
you  ?  Ain't  you  ashamed  ?  " 

He  caught  the  master's  beckoning  eye 
and  came  forward,  slightly  abashed,  with  a 
flush  of  irritation  still  on  his  handsome  face, 
and  his  chestnut  curls  slightly  rumpled. 
One,  which  Octavia  had  covertly  accented 
by  twisting  round  her  forefinger,  stood  up 
like  a  crest  on  his  head. 

"  I  've  told  Uncle  Ben  that  you  might  help 
him  here  after  school  hours,"  said  the  mas- 
ter, taking  him  aside.  "  You  may  therefore 
omit  your  writing  exercise  in  the  morning 
and  do  it  in  the  afternoon." 

The  boy's  dark  eyes  sparkled.  *'  And  if 
it  would  be  all  the  same  to  you,  sir,"  he 
added  earnestly,  "  you  might  sorter  give  out 
in  school  that  I  was  to  be  kept  in." 

"  I  'm  afraid  that  would  hardly  do,"  said 
the  master,  much  amused.  "  But  why  ?  " 

Rupert's  color  deepened.  "  So  ez  to  keep 
them  darned  girls  from  foolin'  round  me  and 
followin'  me  back  here." 


26  CSE83Y. 

"  We  will  attend  to  that,"  said  the  mas- 
ter smiling  ;  a  moment  after  he  added  more 
seriously,  "  I  suppose  your  father  knows 
that  you  are  to  receive  money  for  this? 
And  he  doesn't  object?  " 

"  He !  Oh  no  !  "  returned  Rupert  with  a 
slight  look  of  astonishment,  and  the  same 
general  suggestion  of  patronizing  his  pro- 
genitor that  he  had  previously  shown  to  his 
younger  brother.  4t  You  need  n't  mind  him." 
In  reality  Filgee  pere,  a  widower  of  two 
years'  standing,  had  tacitly  allowed  the  dis- 
cipline of  his  family  to  devolve  upon  Rupert. 
Remembering  this,  the  master  could  only 
say,  "  Very  well,"  and  good-naturedly  dismiss 
the  pupil  to  his  seat  and  the  subject  from 
his  mind.  The  last  laggard  had  just  slipped 
in,  the  master  had  glanced  over  the  occupied 
benches  with  his  hand  upon  his  warning 
bell,  when  there  was  a  quick  step  on  the 
gravel,  a  flutter  of  skirts  like  the  sound  of 
alighting  birds,  and  a  young  woman  lightly 
entered. 

In  the  rounded,  untouched,  and  untroubled 
freshness  of  her  cheek  and  chin,  and  the 
forward  droop  of  her  slender  neck,  she  ap- 
peared a  girl  of  fifteen  ;  in  her  developed 
figure  and  the  maturer  drapery  of  her  full 


CRESS T.  27 

skirts  she  seemed  a  woman  ;  in  her  combina- 
tion of  naive  recklessness  and  perfect  under- 
standing of  her  person  she  was  both.  In 
spite  of  a  few  school-books  that  jauntily 
swung  from  a  strap  in  her  gloved  hand,  she 
bore  no  resemblance  to  a  pupil ;  in  her 
pretty  gown  of  dotted  muslin  with  bows  of 
blue  ribbon  on  the  skirt  and  corsage,  and  a 
cluster  of  roses  in  her  belt,  she  was  as  in- 
consistent and  incongruous  to  the  others  as 
a  fashion-plate  would  have  been  in  the  dry 
and  dog-eared  pages  before  them.  Yet  she 
carried  it  off  with  a  demure  mingling  of 
the  naivete  of  youth  and  the  aplomb  of  a 
woman,  and  as  she  swept  down  the  narrow 
aisle,  burying  a  few  small  wondering  heads 
in  the  overflow  of  her  flounces,  there  was  no 
doubt  of  her  reception  in  the  arch  smile 
that  dimpled  her  cheek.  Dropping  a  half 
curtsey  to  the  master,  the  only  suggestion 
of  her  equality  with  the  others,  she  took  her 
place  at  one  of  the  larger  desks,  and  resting 
her  elbow  on  the  lid  began  to  quietly  remove 
her  gloves.  It  was  Cressy  McKinstry. 

Irritated  and  disturbed  at  the  girl's  un- 
ceremonious entrance,  the  master  for  the  mo- 
ment recognized  her  salutation  coldly,  and 
affected  to  ignore  her  elaborate  appearance. 


28  C  RES  ST. 

The  situation  was  embarrassing.  He  could 
not  decline  to  receive  her  as  she  was  no 
longer  accompanied  by  her  lover,  nor  could 
he  plead  entire  ignorance  of  her  broken  en- 
gagement; while  to  point  out  the  glaring 
inappropriateness  of  costume  would  be  a 
fresh  interference  he  knew  Indian  Spring 
would  scarcely  tolerate.  He  could  only  ac- 
cept such  explanation  as  she  might  choose 
to  give.  He  rang  his  bell  as  much  to  avert 
the  directed  eyes  of  the  children  as  to  bring 
the  scene  to  a  climax. 

She  had  removed  her  gloves  and  was 
standing  up. 

"  I  reckon  I  can  go  on  where  I  left  off  ?  " 
she  said  lazily,  pointing  to  the  books  she 
had  brought  with  her. 

"  For  the  present,"  said  the  master  dryly. 

The  first  class  was  called.  Later,  when 
his  duty  brought  him  to  her  side,  he  was 
surprised  to  find  that  she  was  evidently  al- 
ready prepared  with  consecutive  lessons,  as 
if  she  were  serenely  unconscious  of  any 
doubt  of  her  return,  and  as  coolly  as  if  she 
had  only  left  school  the  day  before.  Her 
studies  were  still  quite  elementary,  for 
Cressy  McKinstry  had  never  been  a  bril- 
liant scholar,  but  he  perceived,  with  a  cynical 


CJRESS7.  29 

doubt  of  its  permanency,  that  she  had  be- 
stowed unusual  care  upon  her  present  per- 
formance. There  was  moreover  a  certain 
defiance  in  it,  as  if  she  had  resolved  to  stop 
any  objection  to  her  return  on  the  score  of 
deficiencies.  He  was  obliged  in  self-defence 
to  take  particular  note  of  some  rings  she 
wore,  and  a  large  bracelet  that  ostenta- 
tiously glittered  on  her  white  arm  —  which 
had  already  attracted  the  attention  of  her 
companions,  and  prompted  the  audible  com- 
ment from  Johnny  Filgee  that  it  was  "  truly 
gold."  Without  meeting  her  eyes  he  con- 
tented himself  with  severely  restraining  the 
glances  of  the  children  that  wandered  in 
her  direction.  She  had  never  been  quite 
popular  with  the  school  in  her  previous  role 
of  fiancee,  and  only  Octavia  Dean  and  one 
or  two  older  girls  appreciated  its  mysterious 
fascination ;  while  the  beautiful  Rupert,  se- 
cure in  his  avowed  predilection  for  the  mid- 
dle-aged wife  of  the  proprietor  of  the  In- 
dian Spring  hotel,  looked  upon  her  as  a 
precocious  chit  with  more  than  the  usual 
propensity  to  objectionable  "breathing." 
Nevertheless  the  master  was  irritatingly  con- 
scious of  her  presence  —  a  presence  which 
now  had  all  the  absurdity  of  her  ridiculous 


30  CRE88Y. 

love-experiences  superadded  to  it.  He  tried 
to  reason  with  himself  that  it  was  only  a 
phase  of  frontier  life,  which  ought  to  have 
amused  him.  But  it  did  not.  The  intru- 
sion of  this  preposterous  girl  seemed  to  dis- 
arrange the  discipline  of  his  life  as  well  as 
of  his  school.  The  usual  vague,  far-off 
dreams  in  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  in- 
dulging during  school -hours,  dreams  that 
were  perhaps  superinduced  by  the  remote- 
ness of  his  retreat  and  a  certain  restful  sym- 
pathy in  his  little  auditors,  which  had  made 
him  —  the  grown-up  dreamer  —  acceptable 
to  them  in  his  gentle  understanding  of  their 
needs  and  weaknesses,  now  seemed  to  have 
vanished  forever. 

At  recess,  Octavia  Dean,  who  had  drawn 
near  Cressy  and  reached  up  to  place  her 
arm  round  the  older  girl's  waist,  glanced  at 
her  with  a  patronizing  smile  born  of  some 
rapid  free-masonry,  and  laughingly  retired 
with  the  others.  The  master  at  his  desk, 
and  Cressy  who  had  halted  in  the  aisle  were 
left  alone. 

"  I  have  had  no  intimation  yet  from  your 
father  or  mother  that  you  were  coming  back 
to  school  again,"  he  began.  "  But  I  suppose 
they  have  decided  upon  your  return  ?  " 


CRESS Y.  31 

An  uneasy  suspicion  of  some  arrangement 
with  her  former  lover  had  prompted  the  em- 
phasis. 

The  young  girl  looked  at  him  with  lan- 
guid astonishment.  "  I  reckon  paw  and  maw 
ain't  no  objection,"  she  said  with  the  same 
easy  ignoring  of  parental  authority  that 
had  characterized  Rupert  Filgee,  and  which 
seemed  to  be  a  local  peculiarity.  "  Maw 
did  offer  to  come  yer  and  see  you,  but  I 
told  her  she  need  n't  bother.'* 

She  rested  her  two  hands  behind  her  on 
the  edge  of  a  desk,  and  leaned  against  it, 
looking  down  upon  the  toe  of  her  smart  lit- 
tle shoe  which  was  describing  a  small  semi- 
circle beyond  the  hem  of  her  gown.  Her 
attitude,  which  was  half -defiant,  half -indo- 
lent, brought  out  the  pretty  curves  of  her 
waist  and  shoulders.  The  master  noticed  it 
and  became  a  trifle  more  austere. 

"  Then  I  am  to  understand  that  this  is  a 
permanent  thing  ?  "  he  asked  coldly. 

"What's  that?"  said  Cressy  interroga- 
tively. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  you  intend 
coming  regularly  to  school  ?  "  repeated  the 
master  curtly,  "  or  is  this  merely  an  arrange- 
ment for  a  few  days  —  until "  — 


32  CRESBY. 

"  Oh,"  said  Cressy  comprehendingly,  lift- 
ing her  unabashed  blue  eyes  to  his,  "  you 
mean  that.  Oh,  that  's  broke  off.  Yes," 
she  added  contemptuously,  making  a  larger 
semicircle  with  her  foot,  "  that 's  over  — 
three  weeks  ago." 

"And  Seth  Davis  —  does  he  intend  re- 
turning too  ?  " 

"  He  !  "  She  broke  into  a  light  girlish 
laugh.  "  I  reckon  not  much !  S 'long's  I'm 
here,  at  least."  She  had  just  lifted  herself 
to  a  sitting  posture  on  the  desk,  so  that  her 
little  feet  swung  clear  of  the  floor  in  their 
saucy  dance.  Suddenly  she  brought  her 
heels  together  and  alighted.  "  So  that 's 
all?  "she  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Kin  I  go  now  ?  " 

"Yes." 

She  laid  her  books  one  on  the  top  of  the 
other  and  lingered  an  instant. 

"  Been  quite  well  ?  "  she  asked  with  indo- 
lent politeness. 

"  Yes  —  thank  you." 

"  You  're  lookin'  right  peart." 

She  walked  with  a  Southern  girl's  undu- 
lating languor  to  the  door,  opened  it,  then 
charged  suddenly  upon  Octavia  Dean,  twirled 


CRESS  r.  33 

her  round  in  a  wild  waltz  and  bore  her 
away ;  appearing  a  moment  after  on  the 
playground  demurely  walking  with  her  arm 
around  her  companion's  waist  in  an  ostenta- 
tious confidence  at  once  lofty,  exclusive,  and 
exasperating  to  the  smaller  children. 

When  school  was  dismissed  that  afternoon 
and  the  master  had  remained  to  show  Rupert 
Filgee  how  to  prepare  Uncle  Ben's  tasks, 
and  had  given  his  final  instructions  to  his 
youthful  vicegerent,  that  irascible  Adonis 
unburdened  himself  querulously : 

"  Is  Cressy  McKinstry  comin'  reg'lar, 
Mr.  Ford?" 

"  She  is,"  said  the  master  dryly.  After  a 
pause  he  asked,  "  Why  ?  " 

Rupert's  curls  had  descended  on  his  eye- 
brows in  heavy  discontent.  "It's  mighty 
rough,  jest  ez  a  feller  reckons  he  's  got  quit 
of  her  and  her  jackass  bo',  to  hev  her  pran- 
cin'  back  inter  school  agin,  and  rigged  out 
like  ez  if  she  'd  been  to  a  fire  in  a  milliner's 
shop." 

"  You  should  n't  allow  your  personal  dis- 
likes, Rupert,  to  provoke  you  to  speak  of  a 
fellow-scholar  in  that  way  —  and  a  young 
lady,  too,"  corrected  the  master  dryly. 

"  The  woods  is  full  o'  sich  feller-scholars 
v-  24  B— Bret  Harte 


34  CUE  s  ST. 

and  sich  young  ladies,  if  yer  keer  to  go  a 
gunning  for  'em,"  said  Rupert  with  dark  and 
slangy  significance.  "Ef  I'd  known  she 
was  comin'  back  I  'd  "  —  he  stopped  and 
brought  his  sunburnt  fist  against  the  seam 
of  his  trousers  with  a  boyish  gesture,  "  I  'd 
hev  jist "  — 

"  What  ?  "  said  the  master  sharply. 

"I'd  hev  played  hookey  till  she  left 
school  agin  !  It  mout  n't  hev  bin  so  long, 
neither,"  he  added  with  a  mysterious 
chuckle. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  master  peremp- 
torily. "  For  the  present  you  '11  attend  to 
your  duty  and  try  to  make  Uncle  Ben  see 
you  're  something  more  than*  a  foolish,  preju- 
diced school-boy,  or,"  he  added  significantly, 
"  he  and  I  may  both  repent  our  agreement. 
Let  me  have  a  good  account  of  you  both 
when  I  return." 

He  took  his  hat  from  its  peg  on  the  wall, 
and  in  obedience  to  a  suddenly  formed  reso- 
lution left  the  school-room  to  call  upon  the 
parents  of  Cressy  McKinstry.  He  was  not 
quite  certain  what  he  should  say,  but,  after 
his  habit,  would  trust  to  the  inspiration  of 
the  moment.  At  the  worst  he  could  resign 
a  situation  that  now  appeared  to  require 


CRE88Y.  86 

more  tact  and  delicacy  than  seemed  consis- 
tent with  his  position,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
confess  to  himself  that  he  had  lately  sus- 
pected that  his  present  occupation  —  the 
temporary  expedient  of  a  poor  but  clever 
young  man  of  twenty  —  was  scarcely  bring- 
ing him  nearer  a  realization  of  his  daily 
dreams.  For  Mr.  Jack  Ford  was  a  youthful 
pilgrim  who  had  sought  his  fortune  in  Cali- 
fornia so  lightly  equipped  that  even  in  the 
matter  of  kin  and  advisers  he  was  deficient. 
That  prospective  fortune  had  already  eluded 
him  in  San  Francisco,  had  apparently  not 
waited  for  him  in  Sacramento,  and  now 
seemed  never  to  have  been  at  Indian  Spring. 
Nevertheless,  when  he  was  once  out  of  sight 
of  the  school-house  he  lit  a  cigar,  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  strode  on  with  the 
cheerfulness  of  that  youth  to  which  all  things 
are  possible. 

The  children  had  already  dispersed  as 
mysteriously  and  completely  as  they  had  ar- 
rived. Between  him  and  the  straggling 
hamlet  of  Indian  Spring  the  landscape 
seemed  to  be  without  sound  or  motion.  The 
wooded  upland  or  ridge  on  which  the  school- 
house  stood,  half  a  mile  further  on,  began  to 
slope  gradually  towards  the  river,  on  whose 


36  CRES8Y. 

banks,  seen  from  that  distance,  the  town 
appeared  to  have  been  scattered  irregularly 
or  thrown  together  hastily,  as  if  cast  ashore 
by  some  overflow  —  the  Cosmopolitan  Hotel 
drifting  into  the  Baptist  church,  and  drag- 
ging in  its  tail  of  wreckage  two  saloons  and 
a  blacksmith's  shop ;  while  the  County 
Court-house  was  stranded  in  solitary  gran- 
deur in  a  waste  of  gravel  half  a  mile  away. 
The  intervening  flat  was  still  gashed  and 
furrowed  by  the  remorseless  engines  of  ear- 
lier gold-seekers. 

Mr.  Ford  was  in  little  sympathy  with  this 
unsuccessful  record  of  frontier  endeavor  — 
the  fortune  he  had  sought  did  not  seem  to 
lie  in  that  direction  —  and  his  eye  glanced 
quickly  beyond  it  to  the  pine -crested  hills 
across  the  river,  whose  primeval  security  was 
so  near  and  yet  so  inviolable,  or  back  again 
to  the  trail  he  was  pursuing  along  the  ridge. 
The  latter  prospect  still  retained  its  semi- 
savage  character  in  spite  of  the  occasional 
suburban  cottages  of  residents,  and  the  few 
outlying  farms  or  ranches  of  the  locality. 
The  grounds  of  the  cottages  were  yet  un- 
cleared of  underbrush ;  bear  and  catamount 
still  prowled  around  the  rude  fences  of  the 
ranches ;  the  late  alleged  experience  of  the 


CRESS  Y.  87 

infant  Snyder  was  by  no  means  improbable  or 
unprecedented. 

A  light  breeze  was  seeking  the  heated  flat 
and  river,  and  thrilling  the  leaves  around 
him  with  the  strong  vitality  of  the  forest. 
The  vibrating  cross -lights  and  tremulous 
chequers  of  shade  cast  by  the  stirred  foliage 
seemed  to  weave  a  fantastic  net  around  him 
as  he  walked.  The  quaint  odors  of  certain 
woodland  herbs  known  to  his  scholars,  and 
religiously  kept  in  their  desks,  or  left  like 
votive  offerings  on  the  threshold  of  the 
school-house,  recalled  all  the  primitive  sim- 
plicity and  delicious  wildness  of  the  little 
temple  he  had  left.  Even  in  the  mischiev- 
ous glances  of  evasive  squirrels  and  the  moist 
eyes  of  the  contemplative  rabbits  there  were 
faint  suggestions  of  some  of  his  own  truants. 
The  woods  were  trembling  with  gentle  mem- 
ories of  the  independence  ho  hud  always 
known  here  —  of  that  sweet  aiid  grave  re- 
treat now  so  ridiculously  invaded. 

He  be^an  to  hesitate,  with  one  of  thoso 
revulsions  of  sentiment  characteristic  of  his 
nature :  Why  should  he  bother  himself 
about  this  girl  after  all  ?  Why  not  make 
up  his  mind  to  accept  her  as  his  predecessor 
had  done?  Why  wan  it  neeeHHary  for  him  to 


38  CRE8BT. 

find  her  inconsistent  with  his  ideas  of  duty 
to  his  little  flock  and  his  mission  to  them  ? 
Was  he  not  assuming  a  sense  of  decorum 
that  was  open  to  misconception?  The  ab- 
surdity of  her  school  costume,  and  any  re- 
sponsibility it  incurred,  rested  not  with  him 
but  with  her  parents.  What  right  had  he  to 
point  it  out  to  them,  and  above  all  how  was 
he  to  do  it  ?  He  halted  irresolutely  at  what 
he  believed  was  his  sober  second  thought, 
but  which,  like  most  reflections  that  take 
that  flattering  title,  was  only  a  reaction  as 
impulsive  and  illogical  as  the  emotion  that 
preceded  it. 

Mr.  McKinstry's  "  snake  rail  "  fence  was 
already  discernible  in  the  lighter  opening  of 
the  woods,  not  far  from  where  he  had  halted. 
As  he  stood  there  in  hesitation,  the  pretty 
figure  and  bright  gown  of  Cressy  McKin- 
stry  suddenly  emerged  from  a  more  secluded 
trail  that  intersected  his  own  at  an  acute 
angle  a  few  rods  ahead  of  him.  She  was 
not  alone,  but  was  accompanied  by  a  male 
figure  whose  arm  she  had  evidently  just  dis- 
lodged from  her  waist.  He  was  still  trying 
to  resume  his  lost  vantage  ;  she  was  as  reso- 
lutely evading  him  with  a  certain  nymph-like 
agility,  while  the  sound  of  her  half-laughing, 


CRB88Y.  39 

half-irate  protest  could  be  faintly  heard. 
Without  being  able  to  identify  the  face  or 
figure  of  her  companion  at  that  distance,  he 
could  see  that  it  was  not  her  former  be- 
trothed, Seth  Davis. 

A  superior  smile  crossed  his  face ;  he  no 
longer  hesitated,  but  at  once  resumed  his 
former  path.  For  some  time  Cressy  and  her 
companion  moved  on  quietly  before  him. 
Then  on  reaching  the  rail-fence  they  turned 
abruptly  to  the  right,  were  lost  for  an  instant 
in  the  intervening  thicket,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment  Cressy  appeared  alone,  crossing  the 
meadow  in  a  shorter  cut  towards  the  houses, 
having  either  scaled  the  fence  or  slipped 
through  some  familiar  gap.  Her  companion 
had  disappeared.  Whether  they  had  no- 
ticed that  they  were  observed  he  could  not 
determine.  He  kept  steadily  along  the  trail 
that  followed  the  line  of  fence  to  the  lane 
that  led  directly  to  the  farm-building,  and 
pushed  open  the  front  gate  as  Cressy's  light 
dress  vanished  round  an  angle  at  the  rear  of 
the  house. 

The  house  of  the  McKinstrys  rose,  or 
rather  stretched,  itself  before  him,  in  all 
the  lazy  ungainliness  of  Southwestern  archi- 
tecture. A  collection  of  temporary  make- 


40  C RE  88  7. 

shifts  of  boards,  of  logs,  of  canvas,  prema- 
turely decayed,  and  in  some  instances  aban- 
doned for  a  newer  erection,  or  degraded  to 
mere  outhouses  —  it  presented  with  singular 
frankness  the  nomadic  and  tentative  disposi- 
tion of  its  founder.  It  had  been  repaired 
without  being  improved;  its  additions  had 
seemed  only  to  extend  its  primitive  ugliness 
over  a  larger  space.  Its  roofs  were  roughly 
shingled  or  rudely  boarded  and  battened, 
and  the  rafters  of  some  of  its  "  lean-to's  " 
were  simply  covered  with  tarred  canvas.  As 
if  to  settle  any  doubt  of  the  impossibility  of 
this  heterogeneous  mass  ever  taking  upon 
itself  any  picturesque  combination,  a  small 
building  of  corrugated  iron,  transported  in 
sections  from  some  remoter  locality,  had 
been  set  up  in  its  centre.  The  McKinstry 
ranch  had  long  been  an  eyesore  to  the  mas- 
ter :  even  that  morning  he  had  been  mutely 
wondering  from  what  convolution  of  that 
hideous  chrysalis  the  bright  butterfly  Cressy 
had  emerged.  It  was  with  a  renewal  of  this 
curiosity  that  he  had  just  seen  her  flutter 
back  to  it  again. 

A  yellow  dog  who  had  observed  him  hesi- 
tating in  doubt  where  he  should  enter,  here 
pawned,  rose  from  the  sunlight  where  he  had 


CRESS  Y.  41 

been  blinking,  approached  the  master  with 
languid  politeness,  and  then  turned  towards 
the  iron  building  as  if  showing  him  the  way. 
Mr.  Ford  followed  him  cautiously,  painfully 
conscious  that  his  hypocritical  canine  intro- 
ducer was  only  availing  himself  of  an  oppor- 
tunity to  gain  ingress  into  the  house,  and 
was  leading  him  as  a  responsible  accomplice 
to  probable  exposure  and  disgrace.  His  ex- 
pectation was  quickly  realized :  a  lazily  quer- 
ulous, feminine  outcry,  with  the  words, 
"  Yer  's  that  darned  hound  agin  !  "  came 
from  an  adjacent  room,  and  his  exposed  and 
abashed  companion  swiftly  retreated  past 
him  into  the  road  again.  Mr.  Ford  found 
himself  alone  in  a  plainly-furnished  sitting- 
room  confronting  the  open  door  leading  to 
another  apartment  at  which  the  figure  of  a 
woman,  preceded  hastily  by  a  thrown  dish- 
cloth, had  just  appeared.  It  was  Mrs.  Mc- 
Kinstry  ;  her  sleeves  were  rolled  up  over  her 
red  but  still  shapely  arms,  and  as  she  stood 
there  wiping  them  on  her  apron,  with  her 
elbows  advanced,  and  her  closed  hands  raised 
alternately  in  the  air,  there  was  an  odd 
pugilistic  suggestion  in  her  attitude.  It  was 
not  lessened  on  her  sudden  discovery  of  the 
master  by  her  retreating  backwards  with 


CRESS  Y. 


her  hands  up  and  her  elbows  still  well  for- 
ward as  if  warily  retiring  to  an  imaginary 


corner." 


Mr.  Ford  at  once  tactfully  stepped  back 
from  the  doorway.  "  1  beg  your  pardon," 
he  said,  .delicately  addressing  the  opposite 
wall,  "  but  I  found  the  door  open  and  I  fol- 
lowed the  dog." 

u  That 's  just  one  of  his  pizenous  tricks," 
responded  Mrs.  McKinstry  dolefully  from 
within.  "  On'y  last  week  he  let  in  a  China- 
man, and  in  the  nat'ral  liustlirf  that  f ollered 
he  managed  to  help  himself  outer  the  pork 
bar'l.  There  ain't  no  shade  o'  cussedness 
that  or'nary  hound  ain't  up  to."  Yet  not- 
withstanding this  ominous  comparison  she 
presently  made  her  appearance  with  her 
sleeves  turned  down,  her  black  woollen 
dress  "tidied,"  and  a  smile  of  fatigued  but 
not  unkindly  welcome  and  protection  on  her 
face.  Dusting  a  chair  with  her  apron  and 
placing  it  before  the  master,  she  continued 
maternally,  "  Now  that  you  're  here,  set  ye 
right  down  and  make  yourself  to  home.  My 
men  folks  are  all  out  o'  door,  but  some  of 
'em's  sure  to  happen  in  soon  for  suthin'; 
that  day  ain't  yet  created  that  they  don't 
come  himtin'  up  Mammy  McKinstry  every 
five  minutes  for  this  thing  or  that." 


CRESBY.  43 

The  glow  of  a  certain  hard  pride  burned 
through  the  careworn  languor  of  her  brown 
cheek.  What  she  had  said  was  strangely 
true.  This  raw-boned  woman  before  him, 
although  scarcely  middle-aged,  had  for  years 
occupied  a  self-imposed  maternal  and  pro- 
tecting relation,  not  only  to  her  husband  and 
brothers,  but  to  the  three  or  four  men,  who 
as  partners,  or  hired  hands,  lived  at  the 
ranch.  An  inherited  and  trained  sympathy 
with  what  she  called  her  "  boys "  and  her 
"men  folk,"  and  their  needs  had  partly  un- 
sexed  her.  She  was  a  fair  type  of  a  class 
not  uncommon  on  the  Southwestern  fron- 
tier ;  women  who  were  ruder  helpmeets  of 
their  rude  husbands  and  brothers,  who  had 
shared  their  privations  and  sufferings  with 
surly,  masculine  endurance,  rather  than  fem- 
inine patience ;  women  who  had  sent  their 
loved  ones  to  hopeless  adventure  or  terrible 
vendetta  as  a  matter  of  course,  or  with  par- 
tisan fury ;  who  had  devotedly  nursed  the 
wounded  to  keep  alive  the  feud,  or  had  re- 
ceived back  their  dead  dry -eyed  and  re- 
vengeful. Small  wonder  that  Cressy  Mc- 
Kinstry  had  developed  strangely  under  this 
sexless  relationship.  Looking  at  the  mother, 
albeit  not  without  a  certain  respect  —  Mr. 


44  CREBSY. 

Ford  found  himself  contrasting  her  with  the 
daughter's  graceful  femininity,  and  wonder- 
ing where  in  Cressy's  youthful  contour  the 
possibility  of  the  grim  figure  before  him  was 
even  now  hidden. 

"  Hiram  allowed  to  go  over  to  the  school- 
house  and  see  you  this  mornm',"  said  Mrs. 
McKinstry,  after  a  pause ;  "  but  I  reckon  ez 
how  he  had  to  look  up  stock  on  the  river. 
The  cattle  are  that  wild  this  time  o'  year, 
huntin'  water,  and  hangin'  round  the  tules, 
that  my  men  are  nigh  worrited  out  o'  their 
butes  with  'em.  Hank  and  Jim  ain't  been 
off  their  mustangs  since  sun  up,  and  Hiram, 
what  with  partrollen'  the  West  Boundary 
all  night,  watchin'  stakes  whar  them  low 
down  Harrisons  hev  been  trespassin'  —  has 
n't  put  his  feet  to  the  ground  in  fourteen 
hours.  Mebbee  you  noticed  Hiram  ez  you 
kem  along?  Ef  so,  ye  did  n't  remember 
what  kind  o'  shootin'  irons  he  had  with 
him  ?  I  see  his  rifle  over  yon.  Like  ez  not 
he  'z  only  got  his  six-shooter,  and  them  Har- 
risons are  mean  enough  to  lay  for  him  at 
long  range.  But,"  she  added,  returning  to 
the  less  important  topic,  "  I  s'pose  Cressy 
came  all  right." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  master  hopelessly. 


CRE83Y.  45 

"  I  reckon  she  looked  so,"  continued  Mrs. 
McKinstry,  with  tolerant  abstraction.  "  She 
allowed  to  do  herself  credit  in  one  of  them 
new  store  gownds  that  she  got  at  Sacramento. 
At  least  that 's  what  some  of  our  men  said. 
Late  years,  I  ain't  kept  tech  with  the  fash- 
ions myself."  She  passed  her  fingers  ex- 
planatorily down  the  folds  of  her  own  coarse 
gown,  but  without  regret  or  apology. 

"She  seemed  well  prepared  in  her  les- 
sons," said  the  master,  abandoning  for  the 
moment  that  criticism  of  his  pupil's  dress, 
which  he  saw  was  utterly  futile,  "  but  am  I 
to  understand  that  she  is  coming  regularly 
to  school  —  that  she  is  now  perfectly  free 
to  give  her  entire  attention  to  her  studies  — 
that  —  that  —  her  —  engagement  is  broken 
off?" 

"  Why,  did  n't  she  tell  ye?  "  echoed  Mrs. 
McKinstry  in  languid  surprise. 

"  She  certainly  did,"  said  the  master  with 
slight  embarrassment,  "  but  "  — 

"  Ef  she  said  so,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Mc- 
Kinstry abstractedly,  "  she  oughter  know, 
and  you  kin  tie  to  what  she  says." 

"  But  as  I  'm  responsible  to  parents  and 
not  to  scholars  for  the  discipline  of  my 
school,"  returned  the  young  man  a  little 


46  CKEBSf. 

stiffly,  "I  thought  it  my  duty  to  hear  it 
from  you." 

"  That 's  so,"  said  Mrs.  McKinstry  medi- 
tatively ;  "  then  I  reckon  you  'd  better  see 
Hiram.  That  ar'  Seth  Davis  engagement 
was  a  matter  of  hern  and  her  father's,  and 
not  in  my  line.  I  'spose  that  Hiram  nat'- 
rally  allows  to  set  the  thing  square  to  you 
and  inquirin'  friends." 

"  I  hope  you  understand,"  said  the  mas- 
ter, slightly  resenting  the  classification, 
"that  my  reason  for  inquiring  about  the 
permanency  of  your  daughter's  attendance 
was  simply  because  it  might  be  necessary  to 
arrange  her  studies  in  a  way  more  suitable 
to  her  years ;  perhaps  even  to  suggest  to 
you  that  a  young  ladies'  seminary  might 
be  more  satisfactory  "  — 

"Sartain,  sartain,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
McKinstry  hurriedly,  but  whether  from 
evasion  of  annoying  suggestion  or  weari- 
ness of  the  topic,  the  master  could  not  de- 
termine. "  You  'd  better  speak  to  Hiram 
about  it.  On'y,"  she  hesitated  slightly,  "  ez 
he  's  got  now  sorter  set  and  pinted  towards 
your  school,  and  is  a  trifle  worrited  with 
stock  and  them  Harrisons,  ye  might  tech  it 
lightly.  He  oughter  be  along  yer  now.  I 


CRE88T.  47 

can't  think  what  keeps  him."  Her  eye  wan- 
dered again  with  troubled  preoccupation  to 
the  corner  where  her  husband's  Sharps'  rifle 
stood.  Suddenly  she  raised  her  voice  as  if 
forgetful  of  Mr.  Ford's  presence. 

"  O  Cressy  !  " 

"OMaw!" 

The  response  came  from  the  inner  room. 
The  next  moment  Cressy  appeared  at  the 
door  with  an  odd  half -lazy  defiance  in  her 
manner,  which  the  master  could  not  under- 
stand except  upon  the  hypothesis  that  she 
had  been  listening.  She  had  already 
changed  her  elaborate  toilet  for  a  long 
clinging,  coarse  blue  gown,  that  accented 
the  graceful  curves  of  her  slight,  petticoat- 
less  figure.  Nodding  her  head  towards  the 
master,  she  said,  "  Howdy  ?  "  and  turned  to 
her  mother,  who  practically  ignored  their 
personal  acquaintance.  "  Cressy,"  she  said, 
"  Dad  's  gone  and  left  his  Sharps'  yer,  d'  ye 
mind  takin'  it  along  to  meet  him,  afore  he 
passes  the  Boundary  corner.  Ye  might  tell 
him  the  teacher  's  yer,  wantin'  to  see  him." 

"One  moment,"  said  the  master,  as  the 
young  girl  carelessly  stepped  to  the  corner 
and  lifted  the  weapon.  "  Let  me  take  it. 
It 's  all  on  my  way  back  to  school  and  I  '11 
meet  him." 


48  CREB8T. 

Mrs.  McKinstry  looked  perturbed.  Cressy 
opened  her  clear  eyes  on  the  master  with 
evident  surprise.  "  No,  Mr.  Ford,"  said 
Mrs.  McKinstry,  with  her  former  maternal 
manner.  "  Ye  'd  better  not  mix  yourself  up 
with  these  yer  doin's.  Ye  Ve  no  call  to  do 
it,  and  Cressy  has;  it's  all  in  the  family. 
But  it 's  outer  your  line,  and  them  Harri- 
son whelps  go  to  your  school.  Fancy  the 
teacher  takin'  weppins  betwixt  and  be- 
tween ! " 

"  It  's  fitter  work  for  the  teacher  than  for 
one  of  his  scholars,  and  a  young  lady  at 
that,"  said  Mr.  Ford  gravely,  as  he  took  the 
rifle  from  the  hands  of  the  half -amused,  half- 
reluctant  girl.  "  It 's  quite  safe  with  me, 
and  I  promise  I  shall  deliver  it  into  Mr. 
McKinstry's  hands  and  none  other." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  n't  be  ez  likely  to  be 
giu'rally  noticed  ez  it  would  if  one  of  us 
carried  it,"  murmured  Mrs.  McKinstry  in 
confidential  abstraction,  gazing  at  her  daugh- 
ter sublimely  unconscious  of  the  presence 
of  a  third  party. 

"You're  quite  right,"  said  the  master 
composedly,  throwing  the  rifle  over  his 
shoulder  and  turning  towards  the  door. 
"  So  I  '11  say  good-afternoon,  and  try  and 
find  your  husband." 


CRE88T.  49 

Mrs.  McKinstry  constrainedly  plucked  at 
the  folds  of  her  coarse  gown.  "  Ye  '11  like 
a  drink  afore  ye  go,"  she  said,  in  an  ill-con- 
cealed tone  of  relief.  "  I  clean  forgot  my 
manners.  Cressy,  fetch  out  that  demijohn." 

"  Not  for  me,  thank  you,"  returned  Mr, 
Ford  smiling. 

"  Oh,  I  see  —  you  're  temperance,  nat'- 
rally,"  said  Mrs.  McKinstry  with  a  tolerant 
sigh. 

"  Hardly  that,"  returned  the  master ;  "  I 
follow  no  rule,  I  drink  sometimes  —  but  not 
to-day." 

Mrs.  McKinstry's  dark  face  contracted. 
"  Don't  you  see,  Maw,"  struck  in  Cressy 
quickly.  "Teacher  drinks  sometimes,  but 
he  don't  use  whiskey.  That 's  all." 

Her  mother's  face  relaxed.  Cressy  slipped 
out  of  the  door  before  the  master,  and  pre- 
ceded him  to  the  gate.  When  she  had 
reached  it  she  turned  and  looked  into  his 
face. 

"  What  did  Maw  say  to  yer  about  seein' 
me  just  now  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  To  your  seein'  me  and  Joe  Masters  on 
the  trail?" 

"  She  said  nothing." 


50  CREBBT. 

"Humph,"  said  Cressy  meditatively. 
"  What  was  it  you  told  her  about  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Then  you  did  n't  see  us  ?  " 

"  I  saw  you  with  some  one  —  I  don't 
know  whom." 

"  And  you  did  n't  tell  Maw  ?  " 

*4  I  did  not.  It  was  none  of  my  busi- 
ness." 

He  instantly  saw  the  utter  inconsistency 
of  this  speech  in  connection  with  the  reason 
he  believed  he  had  in  coming.  But  it  was 
too  late  to  recall  it,  and  she  was  looking  at 
him  with  a  bright  but  singular  expression. 

"That  Joe  Masters  is  the  conceitedest 
fellow  goin'.  I  told  him  you  could  see  his 
foolishness." 

"  Ah,  indeed." 

Mr.  Ford  pushed  open  the  gate.  As  the 
girl  still  lingered  he  was  obliged  to  hold  it  a 
moment  before  passing  through. 

"  Maw  could  n't  quite  hitch  on  to  your 
not  drinkin'.  She  reckons  you  're  like 
everybody  else  about  yer.  That 's  where 
she  slips  up  on  you.  And  everybody  else, 
I  kalkilate." 

"  I  suppose  she  's  somewhat  anxious  about 
your  father,  and  I  dare  say  is  expecting  me 
to  hurry,"  returned  the  master  pointedly. 


CRESS  Y.  61 

"Oh,  dad  '$  all  right,"  said  Cressy  mis- 
chievously* "  You  '11  come  across  him  over 
yon,  iti  the  clearing.  But  you  'r"e  looking 
right  purty  with  that  guii.  It  kinder  sets 
you  off.  You  oughter  wear  one." 

The  mastei*  Smiled  slightly,  said  "  Good- 
bye"  and  took  leave  of  the  girl,  but  not  of 
her  eyes,  which  were  still  following  him. 
Even  when  he  had  reached  the  end  of  the 
lane  and  glanced  back  at  the  rambling  dwell- 
itig,  she  was  still  leaning  on  the  gate  with 
one  foot  on  the  lower  rail  aiid  her  chin 
cupped  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand.  She  made 
a  slight  gesture,  not  clearly  intelligible  at 
that  distant;  it  might  have  been  a  mis* 
chievous  imitation  of  the  way  he  had  thrown 
the  gun  over  his  shoulder,  it  might  have 
been  a  wafted  kiss. 

The  master  however  continued  his  way  in 
no  very  self-satisfied  mood.  Although  he 
did  not  regret  having  taken  the  place  of 
Cressy  as  the  purveyor  of  lethal  weapons 
between  the  belligerent  parties,  he  knew  he 
was  tacitly  mingling  in  the  feud  between 
people  for  whom  he  cared  little  or  nothing. 
It  was  true  that  the  Harrisons  sent  their 
children  to  his  school,  and  that  in  the  fierce 
partisanship  of  the  locality  this  simple  cour- 


52  CRESS  T. 

tesy  was  open  to  misconstruction.  But  he 
was  more  uneasily  conscious  that  this  mis- 
sion, so  far  as  Mrs.  McKinstry  was  con- 
cerned, was  a  miserable  failure.  The  strange 
relations  of  the  mother  and  daughter  per- 
haps explained  much  of  the  girl's  conduct, 
but  it  offered  no  hope  of  future  amelioration. 
Would  the  father,  "  worrited  by  stock  "  and 
boundary  quarrels  —  a  man  in  the  habit  of 
cutting  Gordian  knots  with  a  bowie  knife  — 
prove  more  reasonable  ?  Was  there  any 
nearer  sympathy  between  father  and  daugh- 
ter ?  But  she  had  said  he  would  meet 
McKinstry  in  the  clearing :  she  was  right, 
for  here  he  was  coming  forward  at  a  gallop  I 


CHAPTER  III. 

WHEN  within  a  dozen  paces  of  the  mas- 
ter, McKinstry,  scarcely  checking  his  mus- 
tang, threw  himself  from  the  saddle,  and 
with  a  sharp  cut  of  his  riata  on  the  animal's 
haunches  sent  him  still  galloping  towards 
the  distant  house.  Then,  with  both  hands 
deeply  thrust  in  the  side  pockets  of  his  long, 
loose  linen  coat,  he  slowly  lounged  with 
clanking  spurs  towards  the  young  man.  He 
was  thick-set,  of  medium  height,  densely  and 
reddishly  bearded,  with  heavy-lidded  pale 
blue  eyes  that  wore  a  look  of  drowsy  pain, 
and  after  their  first  wearied  glance  at  the 
master,  seemed  to  rest  anywhere  but  on  him. 

"  Your  wife  was  sending  you  your  rifle  by 
Cressy,"  said  the  master,  "  but  I  offered  to 
bring  it  myself,  as  I  thought  it  scarcely  a 
proper  errand  for  a  young  lady.  Here  it 
is.  I  hope  you  didn't  miss  it  before  and 
don't  require  it  now,"  he  added  quietly. 

Mr.  McKinstry  took  it  in  one  hand  with 
an  air  of  slightly  embarrassed  surprise, 


54  CRESS  T. 

rested  it  against  his  shoulder,  and  then  with 
the  same  hand  and  without  removing  the 
other  from  his  pocket,  took  off  his  soft  felt 
hat,  showed  a  bullet-hole  in  its  rim,  and  re- 
turned lazily,  "  It 's  about  half  an  hour  late, 
but  them  Harrisons  reckoned  I  was  fixed  for 
'em  and  war  too  narvous  to  draw  a  clear 
bead  on  me." 

The  moment  was  evidently  not  a  felicitous 
one  for  the  master's  purpose,  but  he  was  de- 
termined to  go  on.  He  hesitated  an  instant, 
when  his  companion,  who  seemed  to  be 
equally  but  more  sluggishly  embarrassed,  in 
a  moment  of  preoccupied  perplexity  with- 
drew from  his  pocket  his  right  hand  swathed 
in  a  blood-stained  bandage,  and  following 
some  instinctive  habit,  attempted,  as  if  re- 
flectively, to  scratch  his  head  with  two  stif- 
fened fingers. 

"You  are  hurt,"  said  the  master,  genu- 
inely shocked,  "and  here  I  am  detaining 
you." 

"  I  had  my  hand  up  —  so,"  explained 
McKinstry,  with  heavy  deliberation,  "  and 
the  ball  raked  off  my  little  finger  after  it 
went  through  my  hat.  But  that  ain't  what 
I  wanted  to  say  when  I  stopped  ye.  I  ain't 
just  kam  enough  yet,"  he  apologized  in  the 


CBEB8Y.  56 

calmest  manner,  "  and  I  clean  forgit  myself," 
he  added  with  perfect  self-possession.  "  But 
I  was  kalkilatin'  to  ask  you  "  —  he  laid  his 
bandaged  hand  familiarly  on  the  master's 
shoulder  —  "  if  Cressy  kem  all  right  ?  " 

««  Perfectly,"  said  tbe  master.  "  But  shan't 
I  walk  on  home  with  you,  and  we  can  talk 
together  after  your  wound  is  attended  to  ?  " 

**  And  she  looked  piirty  ?  "  continued  M<J- 
Kinstry  without  moving. 

"Very." 

"  And  you  thought  them  new  store  gowndg 
of  hers  right  peart  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  master.  "  Perhaps  a  little 
too  fine  for  the  school,  you  know,"  he  added 
insinuatingly,  "  and  "  — 

"  Not  for  her  —  not  for  her,"  interrupted 
McKinstry.  "  I  reckon  thar  's  more  whar 
that  cam  from !  Ye  need  n't  fear  but  that 
she  kin  keep  up  that  gait  ez  long  ez  Hiram 
McKinstry  hez  the  runuin'  of  her." 

Mr.  Ford  gazed  hopelessly  at  the  hideous 
ranch  in  the  distance,  at  the  sky,  and  the 
trail  before  him ;  then  his  glance  fell  upon 
the  hand  still  upon  his  shoulder,  and  he 
struggled  with  a  final  effort.  "  At  another 
time  I  'd  like  to  have  a  long  talk  with  you 
about  your  daughter,  Mr.  McKinstry." 


56  CRESS  Y. 

"Talk  on,"  said  McKinstry,  putting  his 
wounded  hand  through  the  master's  arm. 
"  I  admire  to  hear  you.  You  're  that  kam, 
it  does  me  good." 

Nevertheless  the  master  was  conscious  that 
his  own  arm  was  scarcely  as  firm  as  his  com- 
panion's. It  was  however  useless  to  draw 
back  now,  and  with  as  much  tact  as  he  could 
command  he  relieved  his  mind  of  its  purpose. 
Addressing  the  obtruding  bandage  before 
him,  he  dwelt  upon  Cressy's  previous  attitude 
in  the  school,  the  danger  of  any  relapse,  the 
necessity  of  her  having  a  more  clearly  defined 
position  as  a  scholar,  and  even  the  advisabil- 
ity of  her  being  transferred  to  a  more  ad- 
vanced school  with  a  more  mature  teacher 
of  her  own  sex.  "  This  is  what  I  wished  to 
say  to  Mrs.  McKinstry  to-day,"  he  concluded, 
"  but  she  referred  me  to  you." 

"  In  course,  in  course,"  said  McKinstry, 
nodding  complacently.  "  She  's  a  good  wo- 
man in  and  around  the  ranch,  and  in  any 
doin's  o'  this  kind,"  he  lightly  waved  his 
wounded  arm  in  the  air,  "  there  ain't  a  bet- 
ter, tho'  I  say  it.  She  was  Blair  Rawlins' 
darter ;  she  and  her  brother  Clay  bein'  the 
only  ones  that  kem  out  safe  arter  their  twenty 
years'  fight  with  the  McEntees  in  West 


CRE8BY.  67 

Kaintuck.  But  she  don't  understand  gals 
ez  you  and  me  do.  Not  that  I  'm  much,  ez 
I  orter  be  more  kam.  And  the  old  woman 
jest  sized  the  hull  thing  when  she  said  she 
hadn't  any  hand  in  Cressy's  engagement. 
No  more  she  had  !  And  ez  far  ez  that  goes, 
no  more  did  me,  nor  Seth  Davis,  nor  Cressy." 
He  paused,  and  lifting  his  heavy-lidded  eyes 
to  the  master  for  the  second  time,  said  re- 
flectively, "  Ye  must  n't  mind  my  tellin'  ye 
—  ez  betwixt  man  and  man  —  that  the  one 
ez  is  most  responsible  for  the  makin'  and 
breakin'  o'  that  engagement  is  you  I " 

"  Me  !  "  said  the  master  in  utter  bewilder- 
ment. 

"  You !  "  repeated  McKinstry  quietly,  re- 
installing the  hand  Ford  had  attempted  to 
withdraw.  "  I  ain't  sayin'  ye  either  know'd 
it  or  kalkilated  on  it.  But  it  war  so.  Ef 
ye  'd  hark  to  me,  and  meander  on  a  little, 
I  '11  tell  ye  how  it  war.  I  don't  mind  walkin' 
a  piece  your  way,  for  if  we  go  towards  the 
ranch,  and  the  hounds  see  me,  they'll  set 
up  a  racket  and  bring  out  the  old  woman, 
and  then  good-by  to  any  confidential  talk 
betwixt  you  and  me.  And  I  'm,  somehow, 
kammer  out  yer." 

He   moved   slowly  down   the   trail,   still 


58  CRES8Y. 

holding  Ford's  arm  confidentially,  although, 
owing  to  his  large  protecting  manner,  he 
seemed  to  offer  a  ridiculous  suggestion  of 
supporting  him  with  his  wounded  member. 

"When  you  first  kem  to  Injin  Spring,'* 
he  began,  "  Seth  and  Cressy  was  goin'  to 
school,  boy  and  girl  like,  and  nothin'  more. 
They  'd  known  each  other  from  babies  —  the 
Davises  bein'  our  neighbors  in  Kaintuck, 
and  emigraten'  with  us  from  St.  Joe.  Seth 
mout  hev  cottoned  to  Cress,  and  Cress  to 
him,  in  course  o'  time,  and  there  was  n't  any- 
thin'  betwixt  the  families  to  hev  kept  'em 
from  marryin'  when  they  wanted.  But  there 
never  war  any  words  passed,  and  no  engage- 
ment." 

"But*"  interrupted  Ford  hastily,  "my 
predecessor,  Mr.  Martin,  distinctly  told  me 
that  there  was,  and  that  it  was  with  your 
permission." 

"  That 's  only  because  you  noticed  suthin' 
the  first  day  you  looked  over  the  school  with 
Martin.  4  Dad,'  sez  Cress  to  me,  '  that  new 
teacher  's  very  peart ;  and  he  's  that  keen 
about  noticin'  me  and  Seth  that  I  reckon 
you'd  better  giv  out  that  we're  engaged.' 
4  But  are  you  ?  '  sez  I.  '  It  '11  come  to  that 
in  the  end,'  sez  Cress, c  and  if  that  yer  teacher 


CRESS  Y.  59 

hez  come  here  with  Northern  ideas  o'  society, 
it 's  just  ez  well  to  let  him  see  Injin  Spring 
ain't  entirely  in  the  woods  about  them  things 
either.'  So  I  agreed,  and  Martin  told  you 
it  was  all  right ;  Cress  and  Seth  was  an  en- 
gaged couple,  and  you  was  to  take  no  notice. 
And  then  you  ups  and  objects  to  the  hull 
thing,  and  allows  that  courtin'  in  school, 
even  among  engaged  pupils,  ain't  proper." 

The  master  turned  his  eyes  with  some  un- 
easiness to  the  face  of  Cressy's  father.  It 
was  heavy  but  impassive. 

** 1  don't  mind  tellin'  you,  now  that  it 's 
over,  what  happened.  The  trouble  with  me, 
Mr.  Ford,  is  —  I  ain't  kam!  and  you  air, 
and  that 's  what  got  me.  For  when  I  heard 
what  you  'd  said,  I  got  on  that  mustang  and 
started  for  the  school-house  to  clean  you  out 
and  giv'  you  five  minutes  to  leave  Injin 
Spring.  I  don't  know  ez  you  remember  that 
day.  I  ?d  kalkilated  my  time  so  ez  to  ketch 
ye  comin'  out  o'  school,  but  I  was  too  airly. 
I  hung  around  out  o'  sight,  and  then  hitched 
my  hoss  to  a  buckeye  and  peeped  inter  the 
winder  to  hev  a  good  look  at  ye.  It  was 
very  quiet  and  kam.  There  was  squirrels 
over  the  roof,  yellow- jackets  and  bees  dronin' 
away,  and  kinder  sleeping-like  all  around  in 


60  CRESS  T. 

the  air,  and  jay-birds  twitterin'  in  the  shin- 
gles, and  they  never  minded  me.  You  were 
movin'  up  and  down  among  them  little  gals 
and  boys,  liftin'  up  their  heads  and  talkin' 
to  'em  softly  and  quiet  like,  ez  if  you  was 
one  of  them  yourself.  And  they  looked 
contented  and  kam.  And  onct  —  I  don't 
know  if  you  remember  it  —  you  kem  close 
up  to  the  winder  with  your  hands  behind 
you,  and  looked  out  so  kam  and  quiet  and 
so  far  off,  ez  if  everybody  else  outside  the 
school  was  miles  away  from  you.  It  kem  to 
me  then  that  I  'd  given  a  heap  to  hev  had 
the  old  woman  see  you  thar.  It  kem  to  me, 
Mr.  Ford,  that  there  was  n't  any  place  for  me 
thar ;  and  it  kem  to  me,  too  —  and  a  little 
rough  like  —  that  raebbee  there  was  n't  any 
place  there  for  my  Cress  either !  So  I  rode 
away  without  disturbin'  you  nor  the  birds 
nor  the  squirrels.  Talkin'  with  Cress  that 
night,  she  said  ez  how  it  was  a  fair  sample 
of  what  happened  every  day,  and  that  you  'd 
always  treated  her  fair  like  the  others.  So 
she  allowed  that  she  'd  go  down  to  Sacra 
mento,  and  get  some  things  agin  her  and 
Seth  bein'  married  next  month,  and  she 
reckoned  she  would  n't  trouble  you  nor  the 
school  agin.  Hark  till  I  've  done,  Mr. 


CRE88T.  61 

Ford,"  he  continued,  as  the  young  man 
made  a  slight  movement  of  deprecation. 
"  Well,  I  agreed.  But  arter  she  got  to  Sac- 
ramento and  bought  some  fancy  fixin's,  she 
wrote  to  me  and  sez  ez  how  she  'd  been 
thinkin'  the  hull  thing  over,  and  she  reck- 
oned that  she  and  Seth  were  too  young  to 
marry,  and  the  engagement  had  better  be 
broke.  And  I  broke  it  for  her." 

"But  how? "asked  the  bewildered  mas- 
ter. 

"  Gin'rally  with  this  gun,"  returned  Mc- 
Kinstry  with  slow  gravity,  indicating  the 
rifle  he  was  carrying,  "  for  I  ain't  kam.  I 
let  on  to  Seth's  father  that  if  I  ever  found 
Seth  and  Cressy  together  again,  I  'd  shoot 
him.  It  made  a  sort  o'  coolness  betwixt  the 
families,  and  hez  given  some  comfort  to 
them  low-down  Harrisons ;  but  even  the  law, 
I  reckon,  recognizes  a  father's  rights.  And 
ez  Cress  sez,  now  ez  Seth  's  out  o'  the  way, 
thar  ain't  no  reason  why  she  can't  go  back 
to  school  and  finish  her  eddication.  And 
I  reckoned  she  was  right.  And  we  both 
agreed  that  ez  she  'd  left  school  to  git  them 
store  clothes,  it  was  only  fair  that  she  'd  give 
the  school  the  benefit  of  'em." 

The  case  seemed  more  hopeless  than  ever. 


62  CRESS  Y. 

The  'master  knew  that  the  man  beside  him 
might  hardly  prove  as  lenient  to  a  second 
objection  at  his  hand.  But  that  very  rea- 
son, perhaps,  impelled  him,  now  that  he  knew 
his  danger,  to  consider  it  more  strongly  as  a 
duty,  and  his  pride  revolted  from  a  possible 
threat  underlying  McKinstry's  confidences. 
Nevertheless  he  began  gently : 

"  But  you  are  quite  sure  you  won't  regret 
that  you  did  n't  avail  yourself  of  this  broken 
engagement,  and  your  daughter's  outfit  —  to 
send  her  to  some  larger  boarding-school  in 
Sacramento  or  San  Francisco?  Don't  you 
think  she  may  find  it  dull,  and  soon  tire  of 
the  company  of  mere  children  when  she  has 
already  known  the  excitement  of  "  —  he  was 
about  to  say  "  a  lover,"  but  checked  himself, 
and  added,  "  a  young  girl's  freedom  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Ford,"  returned  McKinstry,  with 
the  slow  and  fatuous  misconception  of  a  one- 
ideaed  man,  "when  I  said  just  now  that, 
lookin'  inter  that  kam,  peaceful  school  of 
yours,  I  didn't  find  a  place  for  Cress,  it 
war  n't  because  I  did  n't  think  she  oughter 
hev  a  place  thar.  Thar  was  that  thar  wot 
she  never  had  ez  a  little  girl  with  me  and 
the  old  woman,  and  that  she  could  n't  find 
ez  a  grownd  up  girl  in  any  boarding-school 


CRESST.  63 

—  the  home  of  a  child ;  that  kind  oy  inno- 
cent foolishness  that  I  sometimes  reckon 
must  hev  slipped  outer  OUT  emigrant  wagon 
comin'  across  the  plains,  or  got  left  behind 
at  St.  Joe.  She  was  a  grownd  girl  fit  to 
many  afore  she  was  a  child.  She  had 
young  fellers  a-sparkin'  her  afore  she  ever 
played  with  'em  ez  boy  and  girl.  I  don't 
mind  tellin'  you  that  it  wer  n't  in  the  natur 
of  Blair  Rawlins'  darter  to  teach  her  own 
darter  any  better,  for  all  she 's  been  a 
mighty  help  to  me.  So  if  it 's  all  the  same 
to  you,  Mr.  Ford,  we  won't  talk  about  a 
grownd  up  school ;  I  'd  rather  Cress  be  a 
little  girl  again  among  them  other  children. 
I  should  be  a  powerful  sight  more  kam  if  I 
knowed  that  when  I  was  away  huntin'  stock 
or  fightin'  stakes  with  them  Harrisons,  that 
she  was  a  settin'  there  with  them  and  the 
birds  and  the  bees,  and  listenin'  to  them  and 
to  you.  Mebbee  there  's  been  a  little  too 
many  scrimmages  goin'  on  round  the  ranch 
sence  she 's  been  a  child ;  mebbee  she  orter 
know  suthin'  more  of  a  man  than  a  feller 
who  sparks  her  and  fights  for  her." 

The  master  was  silent.  Had  this  dull, 
narrow-minded  partisan  stumbled  upon  a 
truth  that  had  never  dawned  upon  his  own 


64  CREBS7. 

broader  comprehension  ?  Had  this  selfish 
savage  and  literally  red -handed  frontier 
brawler  been  moved  by  some  dumb  instinct 
of  the  power  of  gentleness  to  understand  his 
daughter's  needs  better  than  he  ?  For  a  mo- 
ment he  was  staggered.  Then  he  thought  of 
Cressy's  later  flirtations  with  Joe  Masters, 
and  her  concealment  of  their  meeting  from 
her  mother.  Had  she  deceived  her  father 
also  ?  Or  was  not  the  father  deceiving  him 
with  this  alternate  suggestion  of  threat  and 
of  kindliness  —  of  power  and  weakness. 
He  had  heard  of  this  cruel  phase  of  South- 
western cunning  before.  With  the  feeble 
sophistry  of  the  cynic  he  mistrusted  the 
good  his  scepticism  could  not  understand. 
Howbeit,  glancing  sideways  at  the  slumber- 
ing savagery  of  the  man  beside  him,  and  his 
wounded  hand,  he  did  not  care  to  show  his 
lack  of  confidence.  He  contented  himself 
with  that  equally  feeble  resource  of  weak 
humanity  in  such  cases  —  good-natured  in- 
difference. "  All  right,"  he  said  carelessly ; 
"  I  '11  see  what  can  be  done.  But  are  you 
quite  sure  you  are  fit  to  go  home  alone? 
Shall  I  accompany  you  ?  "  As  McKinstry 
waived  the  suggestion  with  a  gesture,  he 
added  lightly,  as  if  to  conclude  the  inter- 


CRESS  r.  65 

view,  "  I  '11  report  progress  to  you  from  time 
to  time,  if  you  like." 

"  To  me"  emphasized  McKinstry ;  "  not 
over  thar"  indicating  the  ranch.  "  But 
p'rhaps  you  would  n't  mind  my  ridin'  by 
and  lookin'  in  at  the  school-room  winder  onct 
in  a  while ?  Ah  —  you  would"  he  added, 
with  the  first  deepening  of  color  he  had 
shown.  "  Well,  never  mind." 

"  You  see  it  might  distract  the  children 
from  their  lessons,"  explained  the  master 
gently,  who  had  however  contemplated  with 
some  concern  the  infinite  delight  which  a 
glimpse  of  McKinstry's  fiery  and  fatuous 
face  at  the  window  would  awaken  in  Johnny 
Filgee's  infant  breast. 

"  Well,  no  matter  !  "  returned  McKinstry 
slowly.  "Ye  don't  keer,  I  s'pose,  to  come 
over  to  the  hotel  and  take  suthin'  ?  A  julep 
or  a  smash  ?  " 

44 1  should  n't  think  of  keeping  you  a  mo- 
ment longer  from  Mrs.  McKinstry,"  said 
the  master,  looking  at  his  companion's 
wounded  hand.  "  Thank  you  all  the  same. 
Good-by." 

They  shook  hands,  McKinstry  transfer- 
ring his  rifle  to  the  hollow  of  his  elbow 

to  offer  his  unwounded  left.      The  master 
v.  24  C — Bret  Harte 


66  CRES8Y. 

watched  Mm  slowly  resume  his  way  towards 
the  ranch.  Then  with  a  half  uneasy  and 
half  pleasurable  sense  that  he  had  taken 
some  step  whose  consequences  were  more 
important  than  he  would  at  present  under- 
stand, he  turned  in  the  opposite  direction 
to  the  school-house.  He  was  so  preoccupied 
that  it  was  not  until  he  had  nearly  reached 
it  that  he  remembered  Uncle  Ben.  With 
an  odd  recollection  of  McKinstry's  previous 
performance,  he  approached  the  school  from 
the  thicket  in  the  rear  and  slipped  noise- 
lessly to  the  open  window  with  the  inten- 
tion of  looking  in.  But  the  school-house, 
far  from  exhibiting  that  "  kam  "  and  studi- 
ous abstraction  which  had  so  touched  the 
savage  breast  of  McKinstry,  was  filled  with 
the  accents  of  youthful  and  unrestrained 
vituperation.  The  voice  of  Rupert  Filgee 
came  sharply  to  the  master's  astonished 
ears. 

"  You  need  n't  try  to  play  off  Dobell  or 
Mitchell  on  me  —  you  hear  !  Much  you 
know  of  either,  don't  you?  Look  at  that 
copy.  If  Johnny  couldn't  do  better  than 
that,  I  'd  lick  him.  Of  course  it 's  the  pen 
—  it  ain't  your  stodgy  fingers  —  oh,  no  ! 
P'r'aps  you'd  like  to  hev  a  few  more  boxes 


67 

o*  quills  and  gold  pens  and  Gillott's  best 
thrown  in,  for  two  bits  a  lesson  ?  I  tell  you 
what !  I  '11  throw  up  the  contract  in  an- 
other minit !  There  goes  another  quill 
busted  !  Look  here,  what  you  want  ain't  a 
pen,  but  a  clothes-pin  and  a  split  nail! 
That  '11  about  jibe  with  your  dilikit  gait." 

The  master  at  once  stepped  to  the  window 
and,  unobserved,  took  a  quick  survey  of  the 
interior.  Following  some  ingenious  idea  of 
his  own  regarding  fitness,  the  beautiful 
Filgee  had  induced  Uncle  Ben  to  seat  him- 
self on  the  floor  before  one  of  the  smallest 
desks,  presumably  his  brother's,  in  an  atti- 
tude which,  while  it  certainly  gave  him  con- 
siderable elbow-room  for  those  contortions 
common  to  immature  penmanship,  offered 
his  youthful  instructor  a  superior  eminence, 
from  which  he  hovered,  occasionally  swoop- 
ing down  upon  his  grown-up  pupil  like  a 
mischievous  but  graceful  jay.  But  Mr. 
Ford's  most  distinct  impression  was  that, 
far  from  resenting  the  derogatory  position 
and  the  abuse  that  accompanied  it,  Uncle 
Ben  not  only  beamed  upon  his  persecutor 
with  unquenchable  good  humor,  but  with 
undisguised  admiration,  and  showed  not  the 
slightest  inclination  to  accept  his  proposed 
resignation. 


68  CRE8BT. 

"  Go  slow,  Roop,"  he  said  cheerfully. 
"  You  was  onct  a  boy  yourself.  Nat'rally  I 
kalkilate  to  stand  all  the  damages.  You  've 
got  ter  waste  some  powder  over  a  blast  like 
this  yer,  way  down  to  the  bed  rock.  Next 
time  I  '11  bring  my  own  pens." 

"  Do.  Some  from  the  Dobell  school  you 
uster  go  to,"  suggested  the  darkly  ironical 
Rupert.  "  They  was  iron-clad  injin-rubber, 
war  n't  they  ?  " 

"  Never  you  mind  wot  they  were,"  said 
Uncle  Ben  good  -  huinoredly.  "Look  at 
that  string  of  'CV  in  that  line.  There's 
nothing  mean  about  them." 

He  put  his  pen  between  his  teeth,  raised 
himself  slowly  on  his  legs,  and  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  hand  from  the  severe  perspec- 
tive of  six  feet,  gazed  admiringly  down 
upon  his  work.  Rupert,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  his  back  to  the  window, 
cynically  assisted  at  the  inspection. 

"  Wot 's  that  sick  worm  at  the  bottom  of 
the  page  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Wot  might  you  think  it  wos?"  said 
Uncle  Ben  beamingly. 

"  Looks  like  one  o'  them  snake  roots  you 
dig  up  with  a  little  mud  stuck  to  it,"  re- 
turned Rupert  critically. 


CUES  ST.  69 

"  That 's  my  name." 

They  both  stood  looking  at  it  with  their 
heads  very  much  on  one  side.  "  It  ain't  so 
bad  as  the  rest  you  Ve  done.  It  might  be 
your  name.  That  ez,  it  don't  look  like  any- 
thin'  else,"  suggested  Rupert,  struck  with  a 
new  idea  that  it  was  perhaps  more  profes- 
sional occasionally  to  encourage  his  pupil. 
"  You  might  get  on  in  course  o'  time.  But 
what  are  you  doin'  all  this  for  ?  "  he  asked 
suddenly. 

"Doin'  what?" 

"This  yer  comin'  to  school  when  you 
ain't  sent,  and  you  ain't  got  no  call  to  go  — 
you,  a  grown-up  man !  " 

The  color  deepened  in  Uncle  Ben's  face 
to  the  back  of  his  ears.  "  Wot  would  you 
giv'  to  know,  Hoop  ?  S'pose  I  reckoned 
some  day  to  make  a  strike  and  sorter  drop 
inter  saciety  easy  —  eh  ?  S'pose  I  wanted 
to  be  ready  to  keep  up  my  end  with  the 
other  fellers,  when  the  time  kem  ?  To  be 
able  to  sling  po'try  and  read  novels  and 
sich  — eh?" 

An  expression  of  infinite  and  unutterable 
scorn  dawned  in  the  eyes  of  Rupert.  "You 
do  ?  Well,"  he  repeated  with  slow  and  cut- 
ting deliberation,  "  I  '11  tell  you  what  you  're 


70  CRE8BT. 

comin'  here  for,  and  the  only  thing  that 
makes  you  come  ! " 

"What?" 

"  It 's  —  some  —  girl !  " 

Uncle  Ben  broke  into  a  boisterous  laugh 
that  made  the  roof  shake,  stamping  about 
and  slapping  his  legs  till  the  crazy  floor 
trembled.  But  at  that  moment  the  master 
stepped  to  the  porch  and  made  a  quiet  but 
discomposing  entrance. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  return  of  Miss  Cressida  McKinstry 
to  Indian  Spring  and  her  interrupted  stud- 
ies was  an  event  whose  effects  were  not  en- 
tirely confined  to  the  school.  The  broken 
engagement  itself  seemed  of  little  moment 
in  the  general  estimation  compared  to  her 
resumption  of  her  old  footing  as  a  scholar. 
A  few  ill-natured  elders  of  her  own  sex,  and 
naturally  exempt  from  the  discriminating 
retort  of  Mr.  McKinstry's  "  shot-gun,''  al- 
leged that  the  Seminary  at  Sacramento  had 
declined  to  receive  her,  but  the  majority  ac- 
cepted her  return  with  local  pride  as  a  prac- 
tical compliment  to  the  educational  facili- 
ties of  Indian  Spring.  The  Tuolumne 
"  Star,"  with  a  breadth  and  eloquence 
touchingly  disproportionate  to  its  actual 
size  and  quality  of  type  and  paper,  referred 
to  the  possible  "  growth  of  a  grove  of  Aca- 
demus  at  Indian  Spring,  under  whose  clois- 
tered boughs  future  sages  and  statesmen 
were  now  meditating,"  in  a  way  that  made 


72  CRESSY. 

the  master  feel  exceedingly  uncomfortable. 
For  some  days  the  trail  between  the  Mc- 
Kinstrys'  ranch  and  the  school-house  was 
lightly  patrolled  by  reliefs  of  susceptible 
young  men,  to  whom  the  enfranchised  Cres- 
sida,  relieved  from  the  dangerous  supervi- 
sion of  the  Davis-McKinstry  clique,  was  an 
object  of  ambitious  admiration.  The  young 
girl  herself,  who,  in  spite  of  the  master's 
annoyance,  seemed  to  be  following  some 
conscientious  duty  in  consecutively  arraying 
herself  in  the  different  dresses  she  had 
bought,  however  she  may  have  tantalized 
her  admirers  by  this  revelation  of  bridal 
finery,  did  not  venture  to  bring  them  near 
the  limits  of  the  play-ground.  It  struck  the 
master  with  some  surprise  that  Indian  Spring 
did  not  seem  to  trouble  itself  in  regard  to 
his  own  privileged  relations  with  its  rustic 
enchantress ;  the  young  men  clearly  were 
not  jealous  of  him  ;  no  matron  had  sug- 
gested any  indecorum  in  a  young  girl  of 
Cressy's  years  and  antecedents  being  in- 
trusted to  the  teachings  of  a  young  man 
scarcely  her  senior.  Notwithstanding  the 
attitude  which  Mr.  Ford  had  been  pleased 
to  assume  towards  her,  this  implied  compli- 
ment to  his  supposed  monastic  vocations  af- 


CRESS  F,  73 

fected  him  almost  as  uncomfortably  as  the 
"  Star's "  extravagant  eulogium.  He  was 
obliged  to  recall  certain  foolish  experiences 
of  his  own  to  enable  him  to  rise  superior  to 
this  presumption  of  his  asceticism. 

In  pursuance  of  his  promise  to  McKin- 
stry,  he  had  procured  a  few  elementary 
books  of  study  suitable  to  Cressy's  new  posi- 
tion, without,  however,  taking  her  out  of  the 
smaller  classes  or  the  discipline  of  the  school. 
In  a  few  weeks  he  was  enabled  to  further 
improve  her  attitude  by  making  her  a  "  mon- 
itor" over  the  smaller  girls,  thereby  divid- 
ing certain  functions  with  Rupert  Filgee, 
whose  ministrations  to  the  deceitful  and 
"  silly "  sex  had  been  characterized  by  per- 
haps more  vigilant  scorn  and  disparagement 
than  was  necessary.  Cressy  had  accepted  it 
as  she  had  accepted  her  new  studies,  with  an 
indolent  good-humor,  and  at  times  a  frankly 
supreme  ignorance  of  their  abstract  or  moral 
purpose  that  was  discouraging.  "  What 's 
the  good  of  that?"  she  would  ask,  lifting 
her  eyes  abruptly  to  the  master.  Mr.  Ford, 
somewhat  embarrassed  by  her  look,  which 
always,  sooner  or  later,  frankly  confessed  it- 
self an  excuse  for  a  perfectly  irrelevant  ex- 
amination of  his  features  in  detail,  would 


74  CREBBY. 

end  in  giving  her  some  severely  practical 
answer.  Yet,  if  the  subject  appealed  to  any 
particular  idiosyncrasy  of  her  own,  she  would 
speedily  master  the  study.  A  passing  pre- 
dilection for  botany  was  provoked  by  a  single 
incident.  The  master  deeming  this  study  a 
harmless  young-lady-like  occupation,  had  one 
day  introduced  the  topic  at  recess,  and  was 
met  by  the  usual  answer.  "  But  suppose," 
he  continued  artfully,  "somebody  sent  you 
anonymously  some  flowers." 

"  Her  bo  !  "  suggested  Johnny  Filgee 
hoarsely,  with  bold  bad  recklessness.  Ignor- 
ing the  remark  and  the  kick  with  which  Ru- 
pert had  resented  it  on  the  person  of  his 
brother,  the  master  continued: 

"  And  if  you  could  n't  find  out  who  sent 
them,  you  would  want  at  least  to  know  what 
they  were  and  where  they  grew." 

"Ef  they  grew  anywhere  'bout  yer  we 
could  tell  her  that,"  said  a  chorus  of  small 
voices. 

The  master  hesitated.  He  was  conscious 
of  being  on  delicate  ground.  He  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  dozen  pairs  of  little  keen  eyes 
from  whom  Nature  had  never  yet  succeeded 
in  hiding  her  secrets  —  eyes  that  had  waited 
for  and  knew  the  coming  up  of  the  earliest 


CRESS Y.  75 

flowers;  little  fingers  that  had  never  turned 
the  pages  of  a  text-book,  but  knew  where  to 
scrape  away  the  dead  leaves  above  the  first 
anemone,  or  had  groped  painfully  among  the 
lifeless  branches  in  forgotten  hollows  for  the 
shy  dog-rose  ;  unguided  little  feet  that  had  in- 
stinctively made  their  way  to  remote  south- 
ern slopes  for  the  first  mariposas,  or  had  un- 
erringly threaded  the  title-hidden  banks  of 
the  river  for  flower-de-luce.  Convinced  that 
he  could  not  hold  his  own  on  their  level,  he 
shamelessly  struck  at  once  above  it. 

"  Suppose  that  one  of  those  flowers,"  he 
continued,  "was  not  like  the  rest;  that  its 
stalks  and  leaves,  instead  of  being  green  and 
soft,  were  white  and  stringy  like  flannel  as 
if  to  protect  it  from  cold,  would  n't  it  be  nice 
to  be  able  to  say  at  once  that  it  had  lived 
only  in  the  snow,  and  that  some  one  must 
have  gone  all  that  way  up  there  above  the 
snow  line  to  pick  it  ?  "  The  children,  taken 
aback  by  this  unfair  introduction  of  a  floral 
stranger,  were  silent.  Cressy  thoughtfully 
accepted  botany  on  those  possibilities.  A 
week  later  she  laid  on  the  master's  desk  a 
limp-looking  plant  with  a  stalk  like  heavy 
frayed  worsted  yarn.  "  It  ain't  much  to 
look  at  after  all,  is  it?"  she  said.  "  I  reckon 


76  CRESS  Y. 

I  could  cut  a  better  one  with  scissors  outer 
an  old  cloth  jacket  of  mine." 

"  And  you  found  it  here  ?  "  asked  the  mas- 
ter in  surprise. 

"  I  got  Masters  to  look  for  it  when  he  was 
on  the  Summit.  I  described  it  to  him.  I 
did  n't  allow  he  had  the  gumption  to  get  it. 
But  he  did." 

Although  botany  languished  slightly  after 
this  vicarious  effort,  it  kept  Cressy  in  fresh 
bouquets,  and  extending  its  gentle  influence 
to  her  friends  and  acquaintances  became 
slightly  confounded  with  horticulture,  led  to 
the  planting  of  one  or  two  gardens,  and  was 
accepted  in  school  as  an  implied  concession 
to  berries,  apples,  and  nuts.  In  reading  and 
writing  Cressy  greatly  improved,  with  a 
marked  decrease  in  grammatical  solecisms, 
although  she  still  retained  certain  character- 
istic words,  and  always  her  own  slow  South- 
western, half  musical  intonation.  This 
languid  deliberation  was  particularly  notice- 
able in  her  reading  aloud,  and  gave  the  stud- 
ied and  measured  rhetoric  a  charm  of  which 
her  careless  colloquial  speech  was  incapable. 
Even  the  "  Fifth  Reader,"  with  its  imposing 
passages  from  the  English  classics  carefully 
selected  with  a  view  of  paralyzing  small, 


CRESS  Y.  77 

hesitating,  or  hurried  voices,  in  Cressy's 
hands  became  no  longer  an  unintelligible  in- 
cantation. She  had  quietly  mastered  the 
difficulties  of  pronunciation  by  some  in- 
stinctive sense  of  euphony  if  not  of  compre- 
hension. The  master  with  his  eyes  closed 
hardly  recognized  his  pupil.  Whether  or 
not  she  understood  what  she  read  he  hesi- 
tated to  inquire  ;  no  doubt,  as  with  her  other 
studies,  she  knew  what  attracted  her.  Ru- 
pert Filgee,  a  sympathetic  if  not  always  a 
correct  reader,  who  boldly  took  four  and  five 
syllabled  fences  flying  only  to  come  to  grief 
perhaps  in  the  ditch  of  some  rhetorical  pause 
beyond,  alone  expressed  his  scorn  of  her 
performance.  Octavia  Dean,  torn  between 
her  hopeless  affection  for  this  beautiful  but 
inaccessible  boy,  and  her  soul-friendship  for 
this  bigger  but  many-frocked  girl,  studied 
the  master's  face  with  watchful  anxiety. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Hiram  McKin- 
stry  was,  in  the  intervals  of  stake  -  driving 
and  stock  -  hunting,  heavily  contented  with 
this  latest  evidence  of  his  daughter's  pro- 
gress. He  even  intimated  to  the  master  that 
her  reading  being  an  accomplishment  that 
could  be  exercised  at  home  was  conducive  to 
that  "kam"  in  which  he  was  so  deficient.  It 


78  CRESST. 

was  also  rumored  that  Cressy's  oral  render- 
ing of  Addison's  "  Reflections  in  Westmin- 
ster Abbey"  and  Burke's  "Indictment  of 
Warren  Hastings,"  had  beguiled  him  one 
evening  from  improving  an  opportunity  to 
"  plug  "  one  of  Harrison's  boundary  "  raid- 
ers." 

The  master  shared  in  Cressy's  glory  in  the 
public  eye.  But  although  Mrs.  McKinstry 
did  not  materially  change  her  attitude  of 
tolerant  good-nature  towards  him,  he  was 
painfully  conscious  that  she  looked  upon  her 
daughter's  studies  and  her  husband's  inter- 
ests in  them  as  a  weakness  that  might  in 
course  of  time  produce  infirmity  of  homici- 
dal purpose  and  become  enervating  of  eye 
and  trigger-finger.  And  when  Mr.  McKin- 
stry got  himself  appointed  as  school-trus- 
tee, and  was  thereby  obliged  to  mingle  with 
certain  Eastern  settlers,  —  colleagues  on 
the  Board,  —  this  possible  weakening  of  the 
old  sharply  drawn  sectional  line  between 
"Yanks"  and  themselves  gave  her  grave 
doubts  of  Hiram's  physical  stamina. 

"  The  old  man's  worrits  hev  sorter  shook 
out  a  little  of  his  sand,"  she  had  explained. 
On  those  evenings  when  he  attended  the 
Board,  she  sought  higher  consolation  in 


CXES8Y.  79 

prayer  meeting  at  the  Southern  Baptist 
Church,  in  whose  exercises  her  Northern 
and  Eastern  neighbors,  thinly  disguised  as 
"  Baal  "  and  "  Astaroth,"  were  generally 
overthrown  and  their  temples  made  deso- 
late. 

If  Uncle  Ben's  progress  was  slower,  it  was 
no  less  satisfactory.  Without  imagination 
and  even  without  enthusiasm,  he  kept  on 
with  a  dull  laborious  persistency.  When 
the  irascible  impatience  of  Rupert  Filgee  at 
last  succumbed  to  the  obdurate  slowness  of 
his  pupil,  the.  master  himself,  touched  by 
Uncle  Ben's  perspiring  forehead  and  per- 
plexed eyebrows,  often  devoted  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon  to  a  gentle  elucidation  of  the 
mysteries  before  him,  setting  copies  for  his 
heavy  hand,  or  even  guiding  it  with  his  own, 
like  a  child's,  across  the  paper.  At  times 
the  appalling  uselessness  of  Uncle  Ben's  en- 
deavors reminded  him  of  Rupert's  taunting 
charge.  Was  he  really  doing  this  from  a 
genuine  thirst  for  knowledge?  It  was  in- 
consistent with  all  that  Indian  Spring  knew 
of  his  antecedents  and  his  present  ambitions ; 
he  was  a  simple  miner  without  scientific  or 
technical  knowledge;  his  already  slight  ac- 
quaintance with  arithmetic  and  the  scrawl 


80  CRESS  Y. 

that  served  for  his  signature  were  more  than 
sufficient  for  his  needs.  Yet  it  was  with  this 
latter  sign-manual  that  he  seemed  to  take 
infinite  pains.  The  master,  one  afternoon, 
thought  fit  to  correct  the  apparent  vanity  of 
this  performance. 

"  If  you  took  as  much  care  in  trying  to 
form  your  letters  according  to  copy,  you  'd 
do  better.  Your  signature  is  fair  enough  as 
it  is." 

"  But  it  don't  look  right,  Mr.  Ford,"  said 
Uncle  Ben,  eying  it  distrustfully ;  "  some- 
how it  ain't  all  there." 

"Why,  certainly  it  is.  Look,DABNEY 
—  not  very  plain,  it 's  true,  but  there  are  all 
the  letters." 

"  That 's  just  it,  Mr.  Ford  ;  them  ain't  all 
the  letters  that  orter  be  there.  I  've  allowed 
to  write  it  DABNEY  to  save  time  and 
ink,  but  it  orter  read  DAUBIGNY," 
said  Uncle  Ben,  with  painful  distinctness. 

"  But  that  spells  d'Aubigny  !  " 

"It  are." 

"  Is  that  your  name  ?  " 

"  I  reckon." 

The  master  looked  at  Uncle  Ben  doubt- 
fully. Was  this  only  another  form  of  the 
Dobell  illusion?  "Was  your  father  a 
Frenchman  ?  "  he  asked  finally. 


CRESS  Y.  81 

Uncle  Ben  paused  as  if  to  recall  the  tri- 
fling circumstances  of  his  father's  national- 
ity. "No." 

"  Your  grandfather  ?  " 

"I  reckon  not.  At  least  ye  couldn't 
prove  it  by  me." 

"  "Was  your  father  or  grandfather  a  voy- 
ageur  or  trapper,  or  Canadian?" 

"They  were  from  Pike  County,  Miz- 
zoori." 

The  master  regarded  Uncle  Ben  still  du- 
biously. "But  you  call  yourself  Dabney. 
What  makes  you  think  your  real  name  is 
d'Aubigny?" 

"  That 's  the  way  it  uster  be  writ  in  let- 
ters to  me  in  the  States.  Hold  on.  I  '11 
show  ye."  He  deliberately  began  to  feel  in 
his  pockets,  finally  extracting  his  old  purse 
from  which  he  produced  a  crumpled  enve- 
lope, and  carefully  smoothing  it  out,  com- 
pared it  with  his  signature. 

"  Thar,  you  see.  It 's  the  same  —  d'Au- 
bigny." 

The  master  hesitated.  After  all,  it  was 
not  impossible.  He  recalled  other  instances 
of  the  singular  transformation  of  names  in 
the  Californian  emigration.  Yet  he  could 
not  help  saying,  "  Then  you  concluded 


82  CRE88Y. 

d'Aubigny  was  a  better  name  than  Dab- 
ney?" 

"  Do  you  think  it 's  better  ?  " 

"Women  might.  I  dare  say  your  wife 
would  prefer  to  be  called  Mrs.  d'Aubigny 
rather  than  Dabney," 

The  chance  shot  told.  Uncle  Ben  sud- 
denly flushed  to  his  ears. 

"I  didn't  think  o'  that,"  he  said  hur- 
riedly. "  I  had  another  idee.  I  reckoned 
that  on  the  matter  o'  holdin'  property  and 
passin'  in  money  it  would  be  better  to  hev 
your  name  put  on  the  square,  and  to  sorter 
go  down  to  bed  rock  for  it,  eh  ?  If  I  wanted 
to  take  a  hand  in  them  lots  or  Ditch  shares, 
for  instance  —  it  would  be  only  law  to  hev 
it  made  out  in  the  name  o'  d'Aubigny." 

Mr.  Ford  listened  with  a  certain  impatient 
contempt.  It  was  bad  enough  for  Uncle 
Ben  to  have  exposed  his  weakness  in  invent- 
ing fictions  about  his  early  education,  but  to 
invest  himself  now  with  a  contingency  of 
capital  for  the  sake  of  another  childish  van- 
ity, was  pitiable  as  it  was  preposterous. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  he  had  lied  about 
his  school  experiences  ;  it  was  barely  proba- 
ble that  his  name  was  really  d'Aubigny,  and 
it  was  quite  consistent  with  all  this  —  even 


CRESS  Y.  83 

setting  apart  the  fact  that  he  was  perfectly 
well  known  to  be  only  a  poor  miner  —  that 
he  should  lie  again.  Like  most  logical  rea- 
soners  Mr.  Ford  forgot  that  humanity  might 
be  illogical  and  inconsistent  without  being 
insincere.  He  turned  away  without  speak- 
ing as  if  indicating  a  wish  to  hear  no  more. 

"  Some  o'  these  days,'"  said  Uncle  Ben, 
with  dull  persistency,  "  I  '11  tell  ye  suthen'." 

"  I  'd  advise  you  just  now  to  drop  it  and 
stick  to  your  lessons,"  said  the  master 
sharply. 

"That's  so,"  said  Uncle  Ben  hurriedly, 
hiding  himself  as  it  were  in  an  all-encom- 
passing blush.  "In  course  lessons  first, 
boys,  that 's  the  motto."  He  again  took  up 
his  pen  and  assumed  his  old  laborious  atti- 
tude. But  after  a  few  moments  it  became 
evident  that  either  the  master's  curt  dismis- 
sal of  his  subject  or  his  own  preoccupation 
with  it,  had  somewhat  unsettled  him.  He 
cleaned  his  pen  obtrusively,  going  to  the 
window  for  a  better  light,  and  whistling 
from  time  to  time  with  a  demonstrative  care- 
lessness and  a  depressing  gayety.  He  once 
broke  into  a  murmuring,  meditative  chant  evi- 
dently referring  to  the  previous  conversation, 
in  its  —  "  That 's  so — Yer  we  go  —  Lessons 


84  CRESS  Y. 

the  first,  boys,  Yo,  heave  O."  The  rollick- 
ing  marine  character  of  this  refrain,  despite 
its  utter  incongruousness,  apparently  struck 
him  favorably,  for  he  repeated  it  softly, 
occasionally  glancing  behind  him  at  the 
master  who  was  coldly  absorbed  at  his  desk. 
Presently  he  arose,  carefully  put  his  books 
away,  symmetrically  piling  them  in  a  pyra- 
mid beside  Mr.  Ford's  motionless  elbow, 
and  then  lifting  his  feet  with  high  but  gen- 
tle steps  went  to  the  peg  where  his  coat  and 
hat  were  hanging.  As  he  was  about  to  put 
them  on  he  appeared  suddenly  struck  with 
a  sense  of  indecorousness  in  dressing  himself 
in  the  school,  and  taking  them  on  his  arm 
to  the  porch  resumed  them  outside.  Then 
saying,  "  I  clean  disremembered  I  'd  got  to 
see  a  man.  So  long,  till  to-morrow,"  he  dis- 
appeared whistling  softly. 

The  old  woodland  hush  fell  back  upon  the 
school.  It  seemed  very  quiet  and  empty.  A 
faint  sense  of  remorse  stole  over  the  master. 
Yet  he  remembered  that  Uncle  Ben  had  ac- 
cepted without  reproach  and  as  a  good  joke 
much  more  direct  accusations  from  Rupert 
Filgee,  and  that  he  himself  had  acted  from 
a  conscientious  sense  of  duty  towards  the 
man.  But  a  conscientious  sense  of  duty  to 


CRESS  Y.  85 

inflict  pain  upon  a  fellow-mortal  for  his  own 
good  does  not  always  bring  perfect  serenity 
to  the  inflicter  —  possibly  because,  in  the  de- 
fective machinery  of  human  compensation, 
pain  is  the  only  quality  that  is  apt  to  appear 
in  the  illustration.  Mr.  Ford  felt  uncom- 
fortable, and  being  so,  was  naturally  vexed 
at  the  innocent  cause.  Why  should  Uncle 
Ben  be  offended  because  he  had  simply  de- 
clined to  follow  his  weak  fabrications  any 
further?  This  was  his  return  for  having 
tolerated  it  at  first !  It  would  be  a  lesson 
to  him  henceforth.  Nevertheless  he  got 
up  and  went  to  the  door.  The  figure  of  Un- 
cle Ben  was  already  indistinct  among  the 
leaves,  but  from  the  motion  of  his  shoulders 
he  seemed  to  be  still  stepping  high  and 
softly  as  if  not  yet  clear  of  insecure  and  en- 
gulfing ground. 

The  silence  still  continuing,  the  master 
began  mechanically  to  look  over  the  desks 
for  forgotten  or  mislaid  articles,  and  to  rear- 
range the  pupils'  books  and  copies.  A  few 
heartsease  gathered  by  the  devoted  Octavia 
Dean,  neatly  tied  with  a  black  thread  and 
regularly  left  in  the  inkstand  cavity  of  Ru- 
pert's desk,  were  still  lying  on  the  floor 
where  they  had  been  always  hurled  with 


86  CRESS  7. 

equal  regularity  by  that  disdainful  Adonis. 
Picking  up  a  slate  from  under  a  bench,  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  a  forgotten  car- 
toon on  the  reverse  side.  Mr.  Ford  at  once 
recognized  it  as  the  work  of  that  youthful 
but  eminent  caricaturist,  Johnny  Filgee. 
Broad  in  treatment,  comprehensive  in  sub- 
ject, liberal  in  detail  and  slate-pencil  —  it 
represented  Uncle  Ben  lying  on  the  floor 
with  a  book  in  his  hand,  tyrannized  over  by 
Rupert  Filgee  and  regarded  in  a  striking 
profile  of  two  features  by  Cressy  McKinstry. 
The  daring  realism  of  introducing  the  names 
of  each  character  on  their  legs  —  perhaps 
ideally  enlarged  for  that  purpose  —  left  no 
doubt  of  their  identity.  Equally  daring  but 
no  less  effective  was  the  rendering  of  a  lim- 
ited but  dramatic  conversation  between  the 
parties  by  the  aid  of  emotional  balloons  at- 
tached to  their  mouths  like  a  visible  gulp 
bearing  the  respective  legends:  "I  luv 
you,"  "  O  my,"  and  "  You  git !  " 

The  master  was  for  a  moment  startled  at 
this  unlooked-for  but  graphic  testimony  to 
the  fact  that  Uncle  Ben's  visits  to  the  school 
were  not  only  known  but  commented  upon. 
The  small  eyes  of  those  youthful  observers 
had  been  keener  than  his  own.  He  had 


CRES8T.  87 

again  been  stupidly  deceived,  in  spite  of  his 
efforts.  Love,  albeit  deficient  in  features 
and  wearing  an  improperly  short  bell-shaped 
frock,  had  boldly  reentered  the  peaceful 
school,  and  disturbing  complications  on  ab- 
normal legs  were  following  at  its  heels. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHILE  this  simple  pastoral  life  was  cen- 
tred around  the  school-house  in  the  clearing, 
broken  only  by  an  occasional  warning  pistol- 
shot  in  the  direction  of  the  Harrison-McKin- 
stry  boundaries,  the  more  business  part  of 
Indian  Spring  was  overtaken  by  one  of  those 
spasms  of  enterprise  peculiar  to  all  Califor- 
nian  mining  settlements.  The  opening  of 
the  Eureka  Ditch  and  the  extension  of  stage- 
coach communication  from  Big  Bluff  were 
events  of  no  small  importance,  and  were 
celebrated  on  the  same  day.  The  double 
occasion  overtaxing  even  the  fluent  rhetoric 
of  the  editor  of  the  "  Star  "  left  him  strug- 
gling in  the  metaphorical  difficulties  of  a 
Pactolian  Spring,  which  he  had  rashly  turned 
into  the  Ditch,  and  obliged  him  to  transfer 
the  onerous  duty  of  writing  the  editorial 
on  the  Big  Bluff  Extension  to  the  hands  of 
the  Honorable  Abner  Dean,  Assemblyman 
from  Angel's.  The  loss  of  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Dean's  right  eye  in  an  early  pioneer 


CRESS  T.  89 

fracas  did  not  prevent  him  from  looking  into 
the  dim  vista  of  the  future  and  discovering 
with  that  single  unaided  optic  enough  to  fill 
three  columns  of  the  "  Star."  "  It  is  not  too 
extravagant  to  say,"  he  remarked  with 
charming  deprecation,  "  that  Indian  Spring, 
through  its  own  perfectly  organized  system 
of  inland  transportation,  the  confluence  of 
its  North  Fork  with  the  Sacramento  River, 
and  their  combined  effluence  into  the  illimi- 
table Pacific,  is  thus  put  not  only  into  direct 
communication  with  far  Cathay  but  even  re- 
moter Antipodean  markets.  The  citizen  of 
Indian  Spring  taking  the  9  A.  M.  Pioneer 
Coach  and  arriving  at  Big  Bluff  at  2.40  is 
enabled  to  connect  with  the  through  express 
to  Sacramento  the  same  evening,  reaching 
San  Francisco  per  the  Steam  Navigation 
Company's  palatial  steamers  in  time  to  take 
the  Pacific  Mail  Steamer  to  Yokohama  on 
the  following  day  at  3.30  P.  M."  Although 
no  citizen  of  Indian  Spring  appeared  to  avail 
himself  of  this  admirable  opportunity,  nor 
did  it  appear  at  all  likely  that  any  would, 
everybody  vaguely  felt  that  an  inestimable 
boon  lay  in  the  suggestion,  and  even  the 
master  professionally  intrusting  the  reading 
aloud  of  the  editorial  to  Rupert  Filgee  with 


90  CRE88Y. 

ulterior  designs  of  practice  in  the  pronuncia- 
tion of  five -syllable  words,  was  somewhat 
affected  by  it.  Johnny  Filgee  and  Jimmy 
Snyder  accepting  it  as  a  mysterious  some- 
thing that  made  Desert  Islands  accessible  at 
a  moment's  notice  and  a  trifling  outlay,  were 
round-eyed  and  attentive.  And  the  culmi- 
nating information  from  the  master  that  this 
event  would  be  commemorated  by  a  half -hol- 
iday, combined  to  make  the  occasion  as  ex- 
citing to  the  simple  school-house  in  the  clear- 
ing as  it  was  to  the  gilded  saloon  in  the  main 
street. 

And  so  the  momentous  day  arrived,  with 
its  two  new  coaches  from  Big  Bluff  contain- 
ing the  specially  invited  speakers — always 
specially  invited  to  those  occasions,  and  yet 
strangely  enough  never  before  feeling  the 
extreme  "  importance  and  privilege  "  of  it 
as  they  did  then.  Then  there  were  the  firing 
of  two  anvils,  the  strains  of  a  brass  band, 
the  hoisting  of  a  new  flag  on  the  liberty-pole, 
and  later  the  ceremony  of  the  Ditch  opening, 
when  a  distinguished  speaker  in  a  most  un- 
workman-like  tall  hat,  black  frock  coat,  and 
white  cravat,  which  gave  him  the  general  air 
of  a  festive  grave-digger,  took  a  spade  from 
the  hands  of  an  apparently  hilarious  chief 


CRE8BY.  91 

mourner  and  threw  out  the  first  sods.  There 
were  anvils,  brass  bands,  and  a  "  collation  " 
at  the  hotel.  But  everywhere  —  overriding 
the  most  extravagant  expectation  and  even 
the  laughter  it  provoked  —  the  spirit  of  in- 
domitable youth  and  resistless  enterprise 
intoxicated  the  air.  It  was  the  spirit  that 
had  made  California  possible ;  that  had  sown 
a  thousand  such  ventures  broadcast  through 
its  wilderness ;  that  had  enabled  the  sower 
to  stand  half -humorously  among  his  scant 
or  ruined  harvests  without  fear  and  without 
repining,  and  turn  his  undaunted  and  ever 
hopeful  face  to  further  fields.  What  mat- 
tered it  that  Indian  Spring  had  always  before 
its  eyes  the  abandoned  trenches  and  ruined 
outworks  of  its  earlier  pioneers?  What 
mattered  it  that  the  eloquent  eulogist  of  the 
Eureka  Ditch  had  but  a  few  years  before  as 
prodigally  scattered  his  adjectives  and  his 
fortune  on  the  useless  tunnel  that  confronted 
him  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  ?  The 
sublime  forgetfulness  of  youth  ignored  its 
warning  or  recognized  it  as  a  joke.  The 
master,  fresh  from  his  little  flock  and  pre- 
maturely aged  by  their  contact,  felt  a  stir- 
ring of  something  like  envy  as  he  wandered 
among  these  scarcely  older  enthusiasts. 


92  CRESBY. 

Especially  memorable  was  the  exciting  day 
to  Johnny  Filgee,  not  only  for  the  delight- 
fully bewildering  clamor  of  the  brass  band, 
in  which,  between  the  trombone  and  the  bass 
drum,  he  had  got  inextricably  mixed  ;  not 
only  for  the  half-frightening  explosions  of 
the  anvils  and  the  maddening  smell  of  the 
gunpowder  which  had  exalted  his  infant  soul 
to  sudden  and  irrelevant  whoopings,  but  for 
a  singular  occurrence  that  whetted  his  always 
keen  perceptions.  Having  been  shamelessly 
abandoned  on  the  veranda  of  the  Eureka 
Hotel  while  his  brother  Rupert  paid  bashful 
court  to  the  pretty  proprietress  by  assisting 
her  in  her  duties,  Johnny  gave  himself  up  to 
unlimited  observation.  The  rosettes  of  the 
six  horses,  the  new  harness,  the  length  of  the 
driver's  whiplash,  his  enormous  buckskin 
gloves  and  the  way  he  held  his  reins;  the 
fascinating  odor  of  shining  varnish  on  the 
coach,  the  gold-headed  cane  of  the  Honorable 
Abner  Dean :  all  these  were  stored  away  in 
the  secret  recesses  of  Johnny's  memory,  even 
as  the  unconsidered  trifles  he  had  picked  up 
en  route  were  distending  his  capacious  pock- 
ets. But  when  a  young  man  had  alighted 
from  the  second  or  "  Truly  "  coach  among 
the  real  passengers,  and  strolled  carelessly 


CRESS  7.  93 

and  easily  in  the  veranda  as  if  the  novelty 
and  the  occasion  were  nothing  to  him,  John- 
ny, with  a  gulp  of  satisfaction,  knew  that  he 
had  seen  a  prince !  Beautifully  dressed  in  a 
white  duck  suit,  with  a  diamond  ring  on  his 
finger,  a  gold  chain  swinging  from  his  fob, 
and  a  Panama  hat  with  a  broad  black  ribbon 
jauntily  resting  on  his  curled  and  scented 
hair,  Johnny's  eyes  had  never  rested  on  a 
more  resplendent  vision.  He  was  more  ro- 
mantic than  Yuba  Bill,  more  imposing  and 
less  impossible  than  the  Honorable  Abner 
Dean,  more  eloquent  than  the  master  —  far 
more  beautiful  than  any  colored  print  that 
he  had  ever  seen.  Had  he  brushed  him  in 
passing  Johnny  would  have  felt  a  thrill ;  had 
he  spoken  to  him  he  knew  he  would  have 
been  speechless  to  reply.  Judge  then  of  his 
utter  stupefaction  when  he  saw  Uncle  Ben  — 
actually  Uncle  Ben!  —  approach  this  para- 
gon of  perfection,  albeit  with  some  embar- 
rassment, and  after  a  word  or  two  of  unin- 
telligible conversation  walk  away  with  him ! 
Need  it  be  wondered  that  Johnny,  forgetful 
at  once  of  his  brother,  the  horses,  and  even 
the  collation  with  its  possible  "  goodies,"  in- 
stantly followed. 

The  two  men  turned  into  the  side  street, 


94  CRESST. 

which,  after  a  few  hundred  yards,  opened 
upon  the  deserted  mining  flat,  crossed  and 
broken  by  the  burrows  and  mounds  made  by 
the  forgotten  engines  of  the  early  gold-seek- 
ers. Johnny,  at  times  hidden  by  these  ir- 
regularities, kept  closely  in  their  rear,  saun- 
tering whenever  he  came  within  the  range 
of  their  eyes  in  that  sidelong,  spasmodic 
and  generally  diagonal  fashion  peculiar  to 
small  boys,  but  ready  at  any  moment  to  as- 
sume utter  unconsciousness  and  the  appear- 
ance of  going  somewhere  else  or  of  search- 
ing for  something  on  the  ground.  In  this 
way  appearing,  if  noticed  at  all,  each  time  in 
some  different  position  to  the  right  or  left  of 
them,  Johnny  followed  them  to  the  fringe  of 
woodland  which  enabled  him  to  draw  closer 
to  their  heels. 

Utterly  oblivious  of  this  artistic  "  shadow- 
ing "  in  the  insignificant  person  of  the  small 
boy  who  once  or  twice  even  crossed  their 
path  with  affected  timidity,  they  continued 
an  apparently  confidential  previous  inter- 
view. The  words  "  stocks  "  and  "  shares  " 
were  alone  intelligible.  Johnny  had  heard 
them  during  the  day,  but  he  was  struck  by 
the  fact  that  Uncle  Ben  seemed  to  be  seek- 
ing information  from  the  paragon  and  was 


CRE9SY.  95 

perfectly  submissive  and  humble.  But  the 
boy  was  considerably  mystified  when  after  a 
tramp  of  half  an  hour  they  arrived  upon  the 
debatable  ground  of  the  Harrison-McKin- 
stry  boundary.  Having  been  especially 
warned  never  to  go  there,  Johnny  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course  was  perfectly  familiar  with  it. 
But  what  was  the  incomprehensible  stranger 
doing  there?  Was  he  brought  by  Uncle 
Ben  with  a  view  of  paralyzing  both  of  the 
combatants  with  the  spectacle  of  his  perfec- 
tions ?  Was  he  a  youthful  sheriff,  a  young 
judge,  or  maybe  the  son  of  the  Governor  of 
California  ?  Or  was  it  that  Uncle  Ben  was 
"silly"  and  didn't  know  the  locality? 
Here  was  an  opportunity  for  him,  Johnny, 
to  introduce  himself,  and  explain  and  even 
magnify  the  danger,  with  perhaps  a  slight 
allusion  to  his  own  fearless  familiarity  with 
it.  Unfortunately,  as  he  was  making  up  his 
small  mind  behind  a  tree,  the  paragon 
turned  and  with  the  easy  disdain  that  so  well 
became  him,  said : 

"  Well,  /would  n't  offer  a  dollar  an  acre 
for  the  whole  ranch.  But  if  you  choose  to 
give  a  fancy  price  —  that 's  your  lookout." 

To  Johnny's  already  prejudiced  mind, 
Uncle  Ben  received  this  just  contempt  sub- 


96  CRESS  7. 

missively,  as  lie  ought,  but  nevertheless  lie 
muttered  something  "  silly  "  in  reply,  which 
Johnny  was  really  too  disgusted  to  listen  to. 
Ought  he  not  to  step  forward  and  inform 
the  paragon  that  he  was  wasting  his  time  on 
a  man  who  could  n't  even  spell  "  ba-ker," 
and  who  was  taught  his  letters  by  his,  John- 
ny's, brother  ? 

The  paragon  continued : 

"And  of  course  you  know  that  merely 
your  buying  the  title  to  the  land  don't  give 
you  possession.  You  '11  have  to  fight  these 
squatters  and  jumpers  just  the  same.  It  '11 
be  three  instead  of  two  fighting  —  that 's 
all ! " 

Uncle  Ben's  imbecile  reply  did  not  trouble 
Johnny.  He  had  ears  now  only  for  the  su- 
perior intellect  before  him.  It  continued 
coolly : 

"  Now  let 's  take  a  look  at  that  yield  of 
yours.  I  haven't  much  time  to  give  you, 
as  I  expect  some  men  to  be  looking  for  me 
here  —  and  I  suppose  you  want  this  thing 
still  kept  a  secret.  I  don't  see  how  you  Ve 
managed  to  do  it  so  far.  Is  your  claim 
near  ?  You  live  on  it  —  I  think  you  said  ?  " 

But  that  the  little  listener  was  so  preoc- 
cupied with  the  stranger,  this  suggestion  of 


CUES  ST.  97 

Uncle  Ben's  having  a  claim  worth  the  atten- 
tion of  that  distinguished  presence  would 
have  set  him  thinking ;  the  little  that  he  un- 
derstood he  set  down  to  Uncle  Ben's  "  gas- 
sin'."  As  the  two  men  moved  forward 
again,  he  followed  them  until  Uncle  Ben's 
house  was  reached. 

It  was  a  rude  shanty  of  boards  and  rough 
boulders,  half  burrowing  in  one  of  the  largest 
mounds  of  earth  and  gravel,  which  had  once 
represented  the  tailings  or  refuse  of  the 
abandoned  Indian  Spring  Placer.  In  fact 
it  was  casually  alleged  by  some  that  Uncle 
Ben  eked  out  the  scanty  "  grub  wages,"  he 
made  by  actual  mining,  in  reworking  and 
sifting  the  tailings  at  odd  times  —  a  degrad- 
ing work  hitherto  practised  only  by  Chinese, 
and  unworthy  the  Caucasian  ambition.  The 
mining  code  of  honor  held  that  a  man 
might  accept  the  smallest  results  of  his  daily 
labor,  as  long  as  he  was  sustained  by  the 
prospect  of  a  larger  "strike,"  but  condemned 
his  contentment  with  a  modest  certainty. 
Nevertheless  a  little  of  this  suspicion  encom- 
passed his  dwelling  and  contributed  to  its 
loneliness,  even  as  a  long  ditch,  the  former 
tail-race  of  the  claim,  separated  him  from 

his    neighbors.     Prudently  halting    at   the 
v.  24  D— Bret  Harte 


98  CSESST. 

edge  of  the  wood,  Johnny  saw  his  resplen- 
dent vision  cross  the  strip  of  barren  flat, 
and  enter  the  cabin  with  Uncle  Ben  like  any 
other  mortal.  He  sat  down  on  a  stump  and 
awaited  its  return,  which  he  fondly  hoped 
might  be  alone !  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour 
he  made  a  short  excursion  to  examine  the 
condition  of  a  blackberry  bramble,  and  re- 
turned to  his  post  of  observation.  But  there 
was  neither  sound  nor  motion  in  the  direction 
of  the  cabin.  When  another  ten  minutes 
had  elapsed,  the  door  opened  and  to  Johnny's 
intense  discomfiture,  Uncle  Ben  appeared 
alone  and  walked  leisurely  towards  the 
Woods.  Burning  with  anxiety  Johnny  threw 
himself  in  Uncle  Ben's  way.  But  here  oc- 
curred one  of  those  surprising  inconsisten- 
cies known  only  to  children.  As  Uncle  Ben 
turned  his  small  gray  eyes  upon  him  in  a 
half  astonished,  half  questioning  manner,  the 
potent  spirit  of  childish  secretiveness  sud- 
denly took  possession  of  the  boy.  Wild 
horses  could  not  now  have  torn  from  him 
that  question  which  only  a  moment  before 
was  on  his  lips. 

"  Hullo,  Johnny !  What  are  ye  doin' 
here  ?  "  said  Uncle  Ben  kindly. 

"NothinV     After  a  pause,  in  which  he 


CRESS  Y.  99 

walked  all  round  Uncle  Ben's  large  figure, 
gazing  up  at  him  as  if  lie  were  a  monu- 
ment, he  added,  "  Huntin'  blackberrieth." 

"  Why  ain't  you  over  at  the  collation  ?  " 

"  Ruperth  there,"  he  answered  promptly. 

The  idea  of  being  thus  vicariously  present 
in  the  person  of  his  brother  seemed  a  suffi- 
cient excuse.  He  leap-frogged  over  the 
stump  on  which  he  had  been  sitting  as  an 
easy  unembarrassing  pause  for  the  next 
question.  But  Uncle  Ben  was  apparently 
perfectly  satisfied  with  Johnny's  reply,  and 
nodding  to  him,  walked  away. 

When  his  figure  had  disappeared  in  the 
bushes,  Johnny  cautiously  approached  the 
cabin.  At  a  certain  distance  he  picked  up 
a  stone  and  threw  it  against  the  door,  imme- 
diately taking  to  his  heels  and  the  friendly 
copse  again.  No  one  appearing  he  repeated 
the  experiment  twice  and  even  thrice  with  a 
larger  stone  and  at  a  nearer  distance.  Then 
he  boldly  skirted  the  cabin  and  dropped  into 
the  race-way  at  its  side.  Following  it  a  few 
hundred  yards  he  came  upon  a  long  disused 
shaft  opening  into  it,  which  had  been  cov- 
ered with  a  rough  trap  of  old  planks,  as  if  to 
protect  incautious  wayfarers  from  falling  in. 
Here  a  sudden  and  inexplicable  fear  over- 


100  CUES  ST. 

took  Johnny,  and  he  ran  away.  When  he 
reached  the  hotel,  almost  the  first  sight  that 
met  his  astounded  eyes  was  the  spectacle  of 
the  paragon,  apparently  still  in  undisturbed 
possession  of  all  his  perfections  —  driving 
coolly  off  in  a  buggy  with  a  fresh  compan- 
ion. 

Meantime  Mr.  Ford,  however  touched  by 
the  sentimental  significance  of  the  celebra- 
tion, became  slightly  wearied  of  its  details. 
As  his  own  room  in  the  Eureka  Hotel  was 
actually  thrilled  by  the  brass  band  without 
and  the  eloquence  of  speakers  below,  and 
had  become  redolent  of  gunpowder  and 
champagne  exploded  around  it,  he  deter- 
mined to  return  to  the  school-house  and  avail 
himself  of  its  woodland  quiet  to  write  a  few 
letters. 

The  change  was  grateful,  the  distant  mur- 
mur of  the  excited  settlement  came  only  as 
the  soothing  sound  of  wind  among  the 
leaves.  The  pure  air  of  the  pines  that  filled 
every  cranny  of  the  quiet  school-room,  and 
seemed  to  disperse  all  taint  of  human  ten- 
ancy, made  the  far-off  celebrations  as  unreal 
as  a  dream.  The  only  reality  of  his  life 
was  here. 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  few  letters  -  - 


• CRESS  Y.  101 

one  of  which  was  worn  and  soiled  with  fre- 
quent handling.  He  re-read  it  in  a  half 
methodical,  half  patient  way,  as  if  he  were 
waiting  for  some  revelation  it  inspired,  which 
was  slow  that  afternoon  in  coming.  At 
other  times  it  had  called  up  a  youthful  en- 
thusiasm which  was  wont  to  transfigure  his 
grave  and  prematurely  reserved  face  with  a 
new  expression.  To-day  the  revelation  and 
expression  were  both  wanting.  He  put  the 
letter  back  with  a  slight  sigh,  that  sounded 
so  preposterous  in  the  silent  room  that  he 
could  not  forego  an  embarrassed  smile.  But 
the  next  moment  he  set  himself  seriously  to 
work  on  his  correspondence. 

Presently  he  stopped;  once  or  twice  he 
had  been  overtaken  by  a  vague  undefinable 
sense  of  pleasure,  even  to  the  dreamy  halt- 
ing of  his  pen.  It  was  a  sensation  in  no  way 
connected  with  the  subject  of  his  correspon- 
dence, or  even  his  previous  reflections  —  it 
was  partly  physical,  and  yet  it  was  in  some 
sense  suggestive.  It  must  be  the  intoxica- 
ting effect  of  the  woodland  air.  He  even 
fancied  he  had  noticed  it  before,  at  the  same 
hour  when  the  sun  was  declining  and  the 
fresh  odors  of  the  undergrowth  were  rising. 
It  certainly  was  a  perfume.  He  raised  his 


102  CXE88Y. 

eyes.  There  lay  the  cause  on  the  desk  be- 
fore him  —  a  little  nosegay  of  wild  Calif  or- 
nian  myrtle  encircling  a  rose-bud  which  had 
escaped  his  notice. 

There  was  nothing  unusual  in  the  circum- 
stance. The  children  were  in  the  habit  of 
making  their  offerings  generally  without  par- 
ticular reference  to  time  or  occasion,  and  it 
might  have  been  overlooked  by  him  during 
school-hours.  He  felt  a  pity  for  the  for- 
gotten posy  already  beginning  to  grow  limp 
in  its  neglected  solitude.  He  remembered 
that  in  some  folk-lore  of  the  children's,  per- 
haps a  tradition  of  the  old  association  of  the 
myrtle  with  Venus,  it  was  believed  to  be  em- 
blematic of  the  affections.  He  remembered 
also  that  he  had  even  told  them  of  this  prob- 
able origin  of  their  superstition.  He  was 
still  holding  it  in  his  hand  when  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  silken  sensation  that  sent  a  mag- 
netic thrill  through  his  fingers.  Looking  at 
it  more  closely  he  saw  that  the  sprigs  were 
bound  together,  not  by  thread  or  ribbon,  but 
by  long  filaments  of  soft  brown  hair  tightly 
wound  around  them.  He  unwound  a  single 
hair  and  held  it  to  the  light.  Its  length, 
color,  texture,  and  above  all  a  certain  inex- 
plicable instinct,  told  him  it  was  Cressy  Me- 


CRE8SY.  103 

Kinstry's.  He  laid  it  down  quickly,  as  if  he 
had,  in  that  act,  familiarly  touched  her  per- 
son. 

He  finished  his  letter,  but  presently  found 
himself  again  looking  at  the  myrtle  and 
thinking  about  it.  From  the  position  in 
which  it  had  been  placed  it  was  evidently  in- 
tended for  him ;  the  fancy  of  binding  it  with 
hair  was  also  intentional  and  not  a  necessity, 
as  he  knew  his  feminine  scholars  were  usually 
well  provided  with  bits  of  thread,  silk,  or 
ribbon.  If  it  had  been  some  new  absurdity 
of  childish  fashion  introduced  in  the  school, 
he  would  have  noticed  it  ere  this.  For  it 
was  this  obtrusion  of  a  personality  that 
vaguely  troubled  him.  He  remembered 
Cressy's  hair ;  it  was  certainly  very  beauti- 
ful, in  spite  of  her  occasional  vagaries  of 
coiffure.  He  recalled  how,  one  afternoon,  it 
had  come  down  when  she  was  romping  with 
Octavia  in  the  play-ground,  and  was  sur- 
prised to  find  what  a  vivid  picture  he  re- 
tained of  her  lingering  in  the  porch  to  put  it 
up  ;  her  rounded  arms  held  above  her  head, 
her  pretty  shoulders,  full  throat,  and  glow- 
ing face  thrown  back,  and  a  wisp  of  the  very 
hair  between  her  white  teeth!  He  began 
another  letter. 


104  C RES  ST. 

When  it  was  finished  the  shadow  of  the 
pine-branch  before  the  window,  thrown  by 
the  nearly  level  sun  across  his  paper,  had 
begun  slowly  to  reach  the  opposite  wall.  He 
put  his  work  away,  lingered  for  a  moment  in 
hesitation  over  the  myrtle  sprays,  and  then 
locked  them  in  his  desk  with  an  odd  feeling 
that  he  had  secured  in  some  vague  way  a 
hold  upon  Cressy's  future  vagaries  ;  then  re- 
flecting that  Uncle  Ben,  whom  he  had  seen 
in  town,  would  probably  keep  holiday  with 
the  others,  he  resolved  to  wait  no  longer,  but 
strolled  back  to  the  hotel.  The  act  however 
had  not  recalled  Uncle  Ben  to  him  by  any 
association  of  ideas,  for  since  his  discovery 
of  Johnny  Filgee's  caricature  he  had  failed 
to  detect  anything  to  corroborate  the  carica- 
turist's satire,  and  had  dismissed  the  subject 
from  his  mind. 

On  entering  his  room  at  the  hotel  he 
found  Rupert  Filgee  standing  moodily  by 
the  window,  while  his  brother  Johnny,  over- 
come by  a  repletion  of  excitement  and  col- 
lation, was  asleep  on  the  single  arm-chair. 
Their  presence  was  not  unusual,  as  Mr. 
Ford,  touched  by  the  loneliness  of  these 
motherless  boys,  had  often  invited  them  to 
come  to  his  rooms  to  look  over  his  books  and 
illustrated  papers. 


105 

"Well?"  he  said  cheerfuHy. 

Rupert  did  not  reply  or  change  his  posi- 
tion. Mr.  Ford,  glancing  at  him  sharply, 
saw  a  familiar  angry  light  in  the  boy's  beau- 
tiful eyes,  slightly  dimmed  by  a  tear.  Lay- 
ing his  hand  gently  on  Rupert's  shoulder  he 
said,  "  What 's  the  matter,  Rupert?  " 

"Nothin',"  said  the  boy  doggedly,  with 
his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  pane. 

"  Has  —  has  —  Mrs.  Tripp  "  (the  fair 
proprietress)  "  been  unkind  ? "  he  went  on 
lightly. 

No  reply. 

"  You  know,  Rupe,"  continued  Mr.  Ford 
demurely,  "  she  must  show  some  reserve  be- 
fore company  —  like  to-day.  It  won't  do  to 
make  a  scandal." 

Rupert  maintained  an  indignant  silence. 
But  the  dimple  (which  he  usually  despised 
as  a  feminine  blot)  on  the  cheek  nearer  the 
master  became  slightly  accented.  Only  for 
a  moment ;  the  dark  eyes  clouded  again. 

"  I  wish  I  was  dead,  Mr.  Ford." 

"  Hallo  !  " 

"Or  —  doin'  suthin'." 

"  That 's  better.  What  do  you  want  to 
do?" 

"  To  work  —  make  a  livin'  myself.     Quit 


106  CRESS  T. 

toten'  wood  and  water  at  home  ;  quit  cookin' 
and  makin'  beds,  like  a  yaller  Chinaman; 
quit  nussin'  babies  and  dressin'  'em  and  un- 
dressiii'  'em,  like  a  girl.  Look  at  him  now," 
pointing  to  the  sweetly  unconscious  Johnny, 
"look  at  him  there.  Do  you  know  what 
that  means  ?  It  means  I  Ve  got  to  pack  him 
home  through  the  town  jist  ez  he  is  thar,  and 
then  make  a  fire  and  bile  his  food  for  him, 
and  wash  him  and  undress  him  and  put  him 
to  bed,  and  '  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep' 
him,  and  tuck  him  up;  and  Dad  all  the 
while  'scootin'  round  town  with  other  idjits, 
jawin'  about  '  progress  '  and  the  '  future  of 
Injin  Spring.'  Much  future  we  Ve  got  over 
our  own  house,  Mr.  Ford.  Much  future  he 's 
got  laid  up  for  me ! " 

The  master,  to  whom  those  occasional  out- 
breaks from  Rupert  were  not  unfamiliar, 
smiled,  albeit  with  serious  eyes  that  belied 
his  lips,  and  consoled  the  boy  as  he  had 
often  done  before.  But  he  was  anxious  to 
know  the  cause  of  this  recent  attack  and  its 
probable  relations  to  the  fascinating  Mrs. 
Tripp. 

"  I  thought  we  talked  all  that  over  some 
time  ago,  Rupe.  In  a  few  months  you  '11  be 
able  to  leave  school,  and  I  '11  advise  your 


CRE88T.  107 

father  about  putting  you  into  something  to 
give  you  a  chance  for  yourself.  Patience, 
old  fellow;  you're  doing  very  well.  Con- 
sider— there  's  your  pupil,  Uncle  Ben." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  That  's  another  big  baby  to 
tot  round  in  school  when  I  ain't  niggerin'  at 
home." 

"  And  I  don't  see  exactly  what  else  you 
could  do  at  Indian  Spring,"  continued  Mr. 
Ford. 

"  No,"  said  Eupert  gloomily,  "  but  I  could 
get  away  to  Sacramento.  Yuba  Bill  says 
they  take  boys  no  bigger  nor  me  in  thar  ex- 
press offices  or  banks  —  and  in  a  year  or  two 
they  're  as  good  ez  anybody  and  get  paid  as 
big.  Why,  there  was  a  fellow  here,  just 
now,  no  older  than  you,  Mr.  Ford,  and  not 
half  your  learnin',  and  he  dressed  to  death 
with  jewelry,  and  everybody  bowin'  and 
scrapin'  to  him,  that  it  was  perfectly  sick- 
eninV' 

Mr.  Ford  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "  Oh,  you 
mean  the  young  man  of  Benham  and  Co., 
who  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Tripp  ?  "  he  said. 

A  quick  flush  of  angry  consciousness 
crossed  Eupert's  face.  "  Maybe ;  he  has 
just  cheek  enough  for  anythin'." 

"  And  you  want  to  be  like  him  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Ford. 


108  CXESSY. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  Mr.  Ford. 
Not  like  him.  Why  you  're  as  good  as  he 
is,  any  day,"  continued  Rupert  with  relent* 
less  na/ivetf;  "but  if  a  jay-bird  like  that 
can  get  on,  why  could  n't  I  ?  " 

There  was  no  doubt  that  the  master  here 
pointed  out  the  defectiveness  of  Rupert's 
logic  and  the  beneficence  of  patience  and 
study,  as  became  their  relations  of  master 
and  pupil,  but  with  the  addition  of  a  cer- 
tain fellow  sympathy  and  some  amusing  re- 
cital of  his  own  boyish  experiences,  that 
had  the  effect  of  calling  Rupert's  dimples 
into  action  again.  At  the  end  of  half  an 
hour  the  boy  had  become  quite  tractable, 
and,  getting  ready  to  depart,  approached 
his  sleeping  brother  with  something  like 
resignation.  But  Johnny's  nap  seemed  to 
have  had  the  effect  of  transforming  him 
into  an  inert  jelly-like  mass.  It  required 
the  joint  exertions  of  both  the  master  and 
Rupert  to  transfer  him  bodily  into  the  lat- 
ter's  arms,  where,  with  a  single  limp  elbow 
encircling  his  brother's  neck,  he  lay  with 
his  unfinished  slumber  still  visibly  distend- 
ing his  cheeks,  his  eyelids,  and  even  lifting 
his  curls  from  his  moist  forehead.  The 
master  bade  Rupert  "good-night,"  and  re- 


CRESS  Y.  109 

turned  to  his  room  as  the  boy  descended  the 
stairs  with  his  burden. 

But  here  Providence,  with,  I  fear,  its  oc- 
casional disregard  of  mere  human  morality, 
rewarded  Kupert  after  his  own  foolish  de- 
sires. Mrs.  Tripp  was  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  as  Rupert  came  slowly  down.  He 
saw  her,  and  was  covered  with  shame ;  she 
saw  him  and  his  burden,  and  was  touched 
with  kindliness.  Whether  or  not  she  was 
also  mischievously  aware  of  Rupert's  ad- 
miration, and  was  not  altogether  displeased 
with  it,  I  cannot  say.  In  a  voice  that 
thrilled  him,  she  said  :  — 

"  What !  Rupert,  are  you  going  so  soon  ?  " 
"  Yes,  ma'am  -  --  on  account  of  Johnny." 
"  But  let  me  take  him  —  I  can  keep  him 
here  to-night." 

It  was  a  great  tetaptation,  but  Rupert  had 
strength  to  refuse,  albeit  with  his  hat  pulled 
over  his  downcast  eyes. 

"Poor  dear,  how  tired  he  looks." 
She  approached  her  still  fresh  and  pretty 
face  close  to  Rupert  and  laid  her  lips  on 
Johnny's  cheek.  Then  she  lifted  her  au- 
dacious eyes  to  his  brother,  and  pushing 
back  his  well-worn  chip  hat  from  his  cluster- 
ing curls,  she  kissed  him  squarely  on  the 
forehead. 


110  CRE88T. 

"  Good-night,  dear." 

The  boy  stumbled,  and  then  staggered 
blindly  forward  into  the  outer  darkness. 
But  with  a  gentleman's  delicacy  he  turned 
almost  instantly  into  a  side  street,  as  if  to 
keep  this  consecration  of  himself  from  vulgar 
eyes.  The  path  he  had  chosen  was  rough 
and  weary,  the  night  was  dark,  and  Johnny 
was  ridiculously  heavy,  but  he  kept  steadily 
on,  the  woman's  kiss  in  the  fancy  of  the  fool- 
ish boy  shining  on  his  forehead  and  lighting 
him  onward  like  a  star. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHEN  the  door  closed  on  Rupert  the 
master  pulled  down  the  blind,  and,  trim- 
ming his  lamp,  tried  to  compose  himself  by 
reading.  Outside,  the  "  Great  Day  for  In- 
dian Spring "  was  slowly  evaporating  in 
pale  mists  from  the  river,  and  the  celebra- 
tion itself  spasmodically  taking  flight  here 
and  there  in  Roman  candles  and  rockets. 
An  occasional  outbreak  from  revellers  in 
the  bar-room  below,  a  stumbling  straggler 
along  the  planked  sidewalk  before  the  hotel, 
only  seemed  to  intensify  the  rustic  stillness. 
For  the  future  of  Indian  Spring  was  still  so 
remote  that  Nature  insensibly  re-invested 
its  boundaries  on  the  slightest  relaxation  of 
civic  influence,  and  Mr.  Ford  lifted  his  head 
from  the  glowing  columns  of  the  "  Star  "  to 
listen  to  the  far-off  yelp  of  a  coyote  on  the 
opposite  shore. 

He  was  also  conscious  of  the  recurrence 
of  that  vague,  pleasurable  recollection,  so 
indefinite  that,  when  he  sought  to  identify 


112  CRESS  Y. 

it  with  anything — even  the  finding  of  the 
myrtle  sprays  on  his  desk  —  it  evaded  him. 
He  tried  to  work,  with  the  same  interrup- 
tion. Then  an  uneasy  sensation  that  he 
had  not  been  sufficiently  kind  to  Rupert  in 
his  foolish  love-troubles  remorsefully  seized 
him.  A  half  pathetic,  half  humorous  pic- 
ture of  the  miserable  Rupert  staggering  un- 
der the  double  burden  of  his  sleeping  brother 
and  a  misplaced  affection,  or  possibly  aban- 
doning the  one  or  both  in  the  nearest  ditch 
in  a  reckless  access  of  boyish  frenzy  and 
fleeing  his  home  forever,  rose  before  his 
eyes.  He  seized  his  hat  with  the  intention 
of  seeking  him — or  forgetting  him  in  some 
other  occupation  by  the  way.  For  Mr. 
Ford  had  the  sensitive  conscience  of  many 
imaginative  people  ;  an  unfailing  monitor,  it 
was  always  calling  his  whole  moral  being 
into  play  to  evade  it. 

As  he  crossed  the  passage  he  came  upon 
Mrs.  Tripp  hooded  and  elaborately  attired 
in  a  white  ball  dress,  which  however  did 
not,  to  his  own  fancy,  become  her  as  well  as 
her  ordinary  costume.  He  was  passing  her 
with  a  bow,  when  she  said,  with  complacent 
consciousness  of  her  appearance,  "  Are  n't 
you  going  to  the  ball  to-night  ?  " 


CRESS  Y.  113 

He  remembered  then  that  "an  opening 
ball "  at  the  Court-house  was  a  part  of  the 
celebration.  "  No,"  he  said  smiling ;  "  but 
it  is  a  pity  that  Rupert  could  n't  have  seen 
you  in  your  charming  array." 

"  Rupert,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  slightly 
coquettish  laugh ;  "  you  have  made  him  as 
much  a  woman-hater  as  yourself.  I  offered 
to  take  him  in  our  party,  and  he  ran  away 
to  you."  She  paused,  and  giving  him  a 
furtive  critical  glance  said,  with  an  easy 
mingling  of  confidence  and  audacity,  "  Why 
don't  you  go  ?  Nobody  '11  hurt  you." 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  replied  Mr. 
Ford  gallantly.  "  There  's  the  melancholy 
example  of  Rupert  always  before  me." 

Mrs.  Tripp  tossed  her  chignon  and  de- 
scended a  step  of  the  stairs.  "  You  'd  bet- 
ter go,"  she  continued,  looking  up  over  the 
balusters.  "  You  can  look  on  if  you  can't 
dance." 

Now  Mr.  Ford  could  dance,  and  it  so 
chanced,  rather  well,  too.  With  this  con- 
sciousness he  remained  standing  in  half  in- 
dignant hesitation  on  the  landing  as  she  dis- 
appeared. Why  should  n't  he  go  ?  It  was 
true,  he  had  half  tacitly  acquiesced  in  the 
reserve  with  which  he  had  been  treated,  and 


114  CRESS  Y. 

had  never  mingled  socially  in  the  gatherings 
of  either  sex  at  Indian  Spring  —  but  that 
was  no  reason.  He  could  at  least  dress 
himself,  walk  to  the  Court  -  house  and  — 
look  on. 

Any  black  coat  and  white  shirt  was  suf- 
ficiently de  rigueur  for  Indian  Spring.  Mr. 
Ford  added  the  superfluous  elegance  of  a 
forgotten  white  waistcoat.  When  he  reached 
the  sidewalk  it  was  only  nine  o'clock,  but 
the  windows  of  the  Court-house  were  al- 
ready flaring  like  a  stranded  steamer  on  the 
barren  bank  where  it  had  struck.  On  the 
way  thither  he  was  once  or  twice  tempted  to 
change  his  mind,  and  hesitated  even  at  the 
very  door.  But  the  fear  that  his  hesitation 
would  be  noticed  by  the  few  loungers  be- 
fore it,  and  the  fact  that  some  of  them  were 
already  hesitating  through  bashfulness,  de- 
termined him  to  enter. 

The  clerks'  office  and  judges'  chambers 
on  the  lower  floor  had  been  invaded  by 
wraps,  shawls,  and  refreshments,  but  the 
dancing  was  reserved  for  the  upper  floor  or 
court-room,  still  unfinished.  Flags,  laurel- 
wreaths,  and  appropriate  floral  inscriptions 
hid  its  bare  walls ;  but  the  coat  of  arms  of 
the  State,  already  placed  over  the  judges1 


CHESS T.  115 

dais  with  its  illimitable  golden  sunset,  its 
triumphant  goddess,  and  its  implacable  griz- 
zly, seemed  figuratively  to  typify  the  occasion 
better  than  the  inscriptions.  The  room  was 
close  and  crowded.  The  flickering  candles 
in  tin  sconces  against  the  walls,  or  depend- 
ing in  rude  chandeliers  of  barrel-hoops  from 
the  ceiling,  lit  up  the  most  astounding  di- 
versity of  female  costume  the  master  had 
ever  seen.  Gowns  of  bygone  fashions, 
creased  and  stained  with  packing  and  dis- 
use, toilets  of  forgotten  festivity  revised 
with  modern  additions ;  garments  in  and  out 
of  season  —  a  fur-trimmed  jacket  and  a  tulle 
skirt,  a  velvet  robe  under  a  pique  sacque ; 
fresh  young  faces  beneath  faded  head- 
dresses, and  mature  and  buxom  charms  in 
virgin  white.  The  small  space  cleared  for 
the  dancers  was  continually  invaded  by  the 
lookers-on,  who  in  files  of  three  deep  lined 
the  room. 

As  the  master  pushed  his  way  to  the 
front,  a  young  girl,  who  had  been  standing 
in  the  sides  of  a  quadrille,  suddenly  darted 
with  a  nymph  -  like  quickness  among  the 
crowd  and  was  for  an  instant  hidden.  With- 
out distinguishing  either  face  or  figure,  Mr. 
Ford  recognized  in  the  quick,  impetuous  ao- 


116  CRESS  T. 

tion  a  characteristic  movement  of  Cressy's ; 
with  an  embarrassing  instinct  that  he  could 
not  account  for,  he  knew  she  had  seen  him, 
and  that,  for  some  inexplicable  reason,  he 
was  the  cause  of  her  sudden  disappearance. 

But  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  Even 
while  he  was  vaguely  scanning  the  crowd 
she  reappeared  and  took  her  place  beside 
her  mystified  partner  —  the  fascinating 
stranger  of  Johnny's  devotion  and  Rupert's 
dislike.  She  was  pale ;  he  had  never  seen 
her  so  beautiful.  All  that  he  had  thought 
distasteful  and  incongruous  in  her  were  but 
accessories  of  her  loveliness  at  that  moment, 
in  that  light,  in  that  atmosphere,  in  that 
strange  assembly.  Even  her  full  pink  gauze 
dress,  from  which  her  fair  young  shoulders 
slipped  as  from  a  sunset  cloud,  seemed  only 
the  perfection  of  virginal  simplicity ;  her 
girlish  length  of  limb  and  the  long  curves 
of  her  neck  and  back  were  now  the  outlines 
of  thorough  breeding.  The  absence  of  color 
in  her  usually  fresh  face  had  been  replaced 
by  a  faint  magnetic  aurora  that  seemed  to 
him  half  spiritual.  He  could  not  take  his 
eyes  from  her  ;  he  could  not  believe  what 
he  saw.  Yet  that  was  Cressy  McKinstry  — 
his  pupil!  Had  he  ever  really  seen  her? 


CR£8ST.  117 

Did  he  know  her  now  ?  Small  wonder  that 
all  eyes  were  bent  upon  her,  that  a  murmur 
of  unspoken  admiration,  or  still  more  intense 
hush  of  silence  moved  the  people  around 
him.  He  glanced  hurriedly  at  them,  and 
was  oddly  relieved  by  this  evident  partici- 
pation in  his  emotions. 

She  was  dancing  now,  and  with  that  same 
pale  restraint  and  curious  quiet  that  had 
affected  him  so  strongly.  She  had  not  even 
looked  in  his  direction,  yet  he  was  aware  by 
the  same  instinct  that  had  at  first  possessed 
him  that  she  knew  he  was  present.  His  de- 
sire to  catch  her  eye  was  becoming  mingled 
with  a  certain  dread,  as  if  in  a  single  inter- 
change of  glances  the  illusions  of  the  moment 
would  either  vanish  utterly  or  become  irrev- 
ocably fixed.  He  forced  himself,  when  the 
set  was  finished,  to  turn  away,  partly  to  avoid 
contact  with  some  acquaintances  who  had 
drifted  before  him,  and  whom  politeness 
would  have  obliged  him  to  ask  to  dance,  and 
partly  to  collect  his  thoughts.  He  deter- 
mined to  make  a  tour  of  the  rooms  and  then 
go  quietly  home.  Those  who  recognized  him 
made  way  for  him  with  passive  curiosity; 
the  middle-aged  and  older  adding  a  confiden- 
tial sympathy  and  equality  that  positively 


118  CRE88T. 

irritated  him.  For  an  instant  he  had  an  idea 
of  seeking  out  Mrs.  Tripp  and  claiming  her 
as  a  partner,  merely  to  show  her  that  he 
danced. 

He  had  nearly  made  the  circuit  of  the 
room  when  he  was  surprised  by  the  first 
strains  of  a .  waltz.  Waltzing  was  not  a 
strong  feature  of  Indian  Spring  festivity, 
partly  that  the  Church  people  had  serious 
doubts  if  David's  saltatory  performances  be- 
fore the  Ark  included  "round  dances,"  and 
partly  that  the  young  had  not  yet  maptered 
its  difficulties.  When  he  yielded  to  his  im- 
pulse to  look  again  at  the  dancers  he  found 
that  only  three  or  four  couples  had  been  bold 
enough  to  take  the  floor.  Cressy  McKinstry 
and  her  former  partner  were  one  of  them. 
In  his  present  exaltation  he  was  not  aston- 
ished to  find  that  she  had  evidently  picked 
up  the  art  in  her  late  visit,  and  was  now 
waltzing  with  quiet  grace  and  precision,  but 
he  was  surprised  that  her  partner  was  far 
from  being  equally  perfect,  and  that  after  a 
few  turns  she  stopped  and  smilingly  disen- 
gaged her  waist  from  his  arm.  As  she 
stepped  back  she  turned  with  unerring  in- 
stinct to  that  part  of  the  room  where  the 
master  stood,  and  raised  her  eyes  through 


CRESS  Y.  119 

the  multitude  of  admiring  faces  to  his. 
Their  eyes  met  in  an  isolation  as  supreme  as 
if  they  had  been  alone.  It  was  an  attraction 
the  more  dangerous  because  unformulated  — 
a  possession  without  previous  pledge,  prom- 
ise, or  even  intention  —  a  love  that  did  not 
require  to  be  "  made." 

He  approached  her  quietly  and  even  more 
coolly  than  he  thought  possible.  "  Will  you 
allow  me  a  trial  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  looked  in  his  face,  and  as  if  she  had 
not  heard  the  question  but  was  following  her 
own  thought,  said,  "  I  knew  you  would  come ; 
I  saw  you  when  you  first  came  in."  With- 
out another  word  she  put  her  hand  in  his, 
and  as  if  it  were  part  of  an  instinctive  ac- 
tion of  drawing  closer  to  him,  caught  with 
her  advancing  foot  the  accent  of  the  waltz, 
and  the  next  moment  the  room  seemed  to 
slip  away  from  them  into  whirling  space. 

The  whole  thing  had  passed  so  rapidly 
from  the  moment  he  approached  her  to  the 
first  graceful  swing  of  her  full  skirt  at  his 
side,  that  it  seemed  to  him  almost  like  the 
embrace  of  a  lovers'  meeting.  He  had  often 
been  as  near  her  before,  had  stood  at  her 
side  at  school,  and  even  leaned  over  her 
desk,  but  always  with  an  irritated  instinct 


120  CRESS  Y. 

of  reserve  that  had  equally  affected  her, 
and  which  he  now  understood.  With  her 
conscious  but  pale  face  so  near  his  own, 
with  the  faint  odor  of  her  hair  clinging  to 
her,  and  with  the  sweet  confusion  of  the  half 
lingering,  half  withheld  contact  of  her  hand 
and  arm,  all  had  changed.  He  did  not  dare 
to  reflect  that  he  could  never  again  approach 
her  except  with  this  feeling.  He  did  not 
dare  to  think  of  anything  ;  he  abandoned 
himself  to  the  sense  that  had  begun  with  the 
invasion  of  her  hair -bound  myrtle  in  the 
silent  school-room,  and  seemed  to  have  at  last 
led  her  to  his  arms.  They  were  moving  now 
in  such  perfect  rhythm  and  unison  that  they 
seemed  scarcely  conscious  of  motion.  Once 
when  they  neared  the  open  window  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  round  moon  rising  above 
the  solemn  heights  of  the  opposite  shore,  and 
felt  the  cool  breath  of  mountain  and  river 
sweep  his  cheek  and  mingle  a  few  escaped 
threads  of  her  fair  hair  with  his  own.  With 
that  glimpse  and  that  sensation  the  vulgarity 
and  the  tawdriness  of  their  surroundings,  the 
guttering  candles  in  their  sconces,  the  bizarre 
figures,  the  unmeaning  faces  seemed  to  be 
whirled  far  into  distant  space.  They  were 
alone  with  night  and  nature ;  it  was  they  who 


CRESS  Y.  121 

were  still ;  all  else  had  receded  in  a  vanish- 
ing perspective  of  dull  reality,  in  which  they 
had  no  part. 

Play  on,  O  waltz  of  Strauss !  Whirl  on, 
O  love  and  youth!  For  you  cannot  whirl 
so  swiftly  but  that  this  receding  world  will 
return  again  with  narrowing  circle  to  hem 
you  in.  Faster,  O  cracked  clarionet !  Louder, 
O  too  brazen  bassoon !  Keep  back,  O  dull 
and  earthy  environment,  till  master  and  pupil 
have  dreamed  their  foolish  dream  ! 

They  are  in  fancy  alone  on  the  river-bank, 
only  the  round  moon  above  them  and  their 
linked  shadows  faintly  fluttering  in  the 
stream.  They  have  drawn  so  closely  together 
now  that  her  arm  is  encircling  his  neck,  her 
soft  eyes  uplifted  like  the  moon's  reflection 
and  drowning  into  his  ;  closer  and  closer  till 
their  hearts  stop  beating  and  their  lips  have 
met  in  a  first  kiss.  Faster,  O  little  feet! 
swing  clear,  O  Cressy's  skirt  and  keep  the 
narrowing  circle  back !  .  .  .  They  are  again 
alone  ;  the  judges'  dais  and  the  emblazoning 
of  the  State  caught  in  a  single  whirling  flash 
of  consciousness  are  changed  to  an  altar, 
seen  dimly  through  the  bridal  veil  that  cov- 
ers her  fair  head.  There  is  the  murmur  of 
voices  mingling  two  lives  in  one.  They  turn 


122  CREB8Y. 

and  pass  proudly  down  between  the  aisles  of 
wondering  festal  faces.  Ah!  the  circle  is 
drawing  closer.  One  more  quick  whirl  to 
keep  them  back,  O  flying  skirt  and  dainty- 
winged  feet !  Too  late  !  The  music  stops. 
The  tawdry  walls  shut  in  again,  the  vulgar 
crowds  return,  they  stand  pale  and  quiet, 
the  centre  of  a  ring  of  breathless,  admiring, 
frightened,  or  forbidding  faces.  Her  arms 
fold  like  wings  at  her  side.  The  waltz  is 
over. 

A  shrill  feminine  chorus  assail  her  with 
praises,  struck  here  and  there  with  a  metallic 
ring  of  envy ;  a  dozen  all-daring  cavaliers, 
made  reckless  by  her  grace  and  beauty, 
clamor  for  her  hand  in  the  next  waltz.  She 
replies,  not  to  them,  but  to  him,  "  Not  again," 
and  slips  away  in  the  crowd  with  that  strange 
new  shyness  that  of  all  her  transformations 
seems  the  most  delicious.  Yet  so  conscious 
are  they  of  their  mutual  passion  that  they  do 
not  miss  each  other,  and  he  turns  away  as 
if  their  next  meeting  were  already  an  ap- 
pointed tryst.  A  few  congratulate  him  on 
his  skill.  Johnny's  paragon  looks  after  him 
curiously ;  certain  elders  shake  hands  with 
him  perplexedly,  as  if  not  quite  sure  of  the 
professional  consistency  of  his  performance. 


CRE8ST.  123 

Those  charming  tide-waiters  on  social  suc- 
cess, the  fair,  artfully  mingling  expectation 
with  compliment,  only  extract  from  him  the 
laughing  statement  that  this  one  waltz  was 
the  single  exception  allowed  him  from  the 
rule  of  his  professional  conduct,  and  he  refers 
them  to  his  elder  critics.  A  single  face, 
loutish,  looming,  and  vindictive,  stands  out 
among  the  crowd  —  the  face  of  Seth  Davis. 
He  had  not  seen  him  since  he  left  the  school ; 
he  had  forgotten  his  existence  ;  even  now  he 
only  remembered  his  successor,  Joe  Masters, 
and  he  looked  curiously  around  to  see  if  that 
later  suitor  of  Cressy's  was  present.  It  was 
not  until  he  reached  the  door  that  he  began 
to  think  seriously  of  Seth  Davis's  jealous 
face,  and  was  roused  to  a  singular  indigna- 
tion. "  Why  had  n't  this  great  fool  vented 
his  jealousy  on  the  openly  compromising 
Masters,"  he  thought.  He  even  turned  and 
walked  back  with  some  vaguely  aggressive 
instinct,  but  the  young  man  had  disappeared. 
With  this  incident  still  in  his  mind  he  came 
upon  Uncle  Ben  and  Hiram  McKinstry, 
standing  among  the  spectators  in  the  door- 
way. Why  might  not  Uncle  Ben  be  jealous 
too  ?  and  if  his  single  waltz  had  really  ap- 
peared so  compromising,  why  should  not 


124  CRESS  7. 

Cressy's  father  object?  But  both  men  — 
albeit,  McKinstry  usually  exhibited  a  vague 
unreasoning  contempt  for  Uncle  Ben  —  were 
unanimous  in  their  congratulations  and  out- 
spoken admiration. 

"  When  I  see'd  you  sail  in,  Mr.  Ford," 
said  Uncle  Ben,  with  abstract  reflectiveness, 
"I  sez  to  the  fellers,  'lie  low,  boys,  and 
you  '11  see  style.'  And  when  you  put  on 
them  first  steps,  I  sez,  '  that  's  French  —  the 
latest  high-toned  French  style  —  outer  the 
best  masters,  and  —  and  outer  the  best 
books.  For  why  ? '  sez  I.  '  It  's  the  same 
long,  sliding  stroke  you  see  in  his  copies. 
There  's  that  long  up  sweep,  and  that  easy 
curve  to  the  right  with  no  hitch.  That  's 
the  sorter  swing  he  hez  in  readin'  po'try  too. 
That 's  why  it 's  called  the  po'try  of  motion,' 
sez  I.  '  And  you  ken  bet  your  boots,  boys, 
it 's  all  in  the  trainiri'  o'  education.' ' 

"  Mr.  Ford,"  said  Mr.  McKinstry  gravely, 
slightly  waving  a  lavender-colored  kid  glove, 
with  which  he  had  elected  to  conceal  his 
maimed  hand,  and  at  the  same  moment  indi- 
cate a  festal  occasion :  "  I  hev  to  thank  ye 
for  the  way  you  took  out  that  child  o'  mine, 
like  ez  she  woz  an  ontried  filly,  and  put  her 
through  her  paces.  I  don't  dance  myself, 


CJRESST.  125 

partikly  in  that  gait  —  which  I  take  to  be 
suthin'  betwixt  a  lope  and  a  canter  —  and  I 
don't  get  to  see  much  danciii'  nowadays  on 
account  o'  bein'  worrited  by  stock,  but 
seem'  you  two  together  just  now,  suthin' 
came  over  me,  and  I  don't  think  I  ever  felt 
so  kam  in  my  life." 

The  blood  rushed  to  the  master's  cheek 
with  an  unexpected  consciousness  of  guilt 
and  shame.  "But,"  he  stammered  awk- 
wardly, "  your  daughter  dances  beautifully 
herself  ;  she  has  certainly  had  practice." 

"  That,"  said  McKinstry,  laying  his  gloved 
hand  impressively  on  the  master's  shoulder, 
with  the  empty  little  finger  still  more  em- 
phasized by  being  turned  backward  in  the 
act ,  "  that  may  be  ez  it  ez,  but  I  wanted 
to  say  that  it  was  the  simple,  easy,  fammily 
touch  that  you  gev  it,  that  took  me.  Toward 
the  end,  when  you  kinder  gathered  her  up 
and  she  sorter  dropped  her  head  into  your 
breast-pocket,  and  seemed  to  go  to  sleep, 
like  ez  ef  she  was  still  a  little  girl,  it  so  re- 
minded me  of  the  times  when  I  used  to  tote 
her  myself  walkin'  by  the  waggin  at  Platt 
River,  that  it  made  me  wish  the  old  woman 
was  here  to  see  it." 

Still  coloring,  the  master  cast  a  rapid,  side- 


126  CRESST. 

long  glance  at  McKinstry's  dark  red  face 
and  beard,  but  in  the  slow  satisfaction  of 
his  features  there  was  no  trace  of  that  irony 
which  the  master's  self -consciousness  knew. 

"  Then  your  wife  is  not  here  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Ford  abstractedly. 

"  She  war  at  church.  She  reckoned  that 
I  'd  do  to  look  arter  Cressy  —  she  bein',  so 
to  speak,  under  conviction.  D'  ye  mind 
walkin'  this  way  a  bit ;  I  want  to  speak  a 
word  with  ye  ?  "  He  put  his  maimed  hand 
through  the  master's  arm,  after  his  former 
fashion,  and  led  him  to  a  corner. 

"  Did  ye  happen  to  see  Seth  Davis  about 
yer?" 

"  I  believe  I  saw  him  a  moment  ago," 
returned  Mr.  Ford  half  contemptuously. 

"  Did  he  get  off  anythin'  rough  on  ye  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  master  haugh- 
tily. "  Why  should  he  dare  ?  " 

"  That 's  so,"  said  McKinstry  meditatively. 
"  You  had  better  keep  right  on  in  that  line. 
That  's  your  gait,  remember.  Leave  him  — 
or  his  father  —  it  's  the  same  thing  —  to 
me.  Don't  you  let  yourself  be  roped  in  to 
this  yer  row  betwixt  me  and  the  Davises. 
You  ain't  got  no  call  to  do  it.  It 's  already 
been  on  my  mind  your  bringin'  that  gun  to 


CRE88T.  127 

me  in  the  Harrison  row.  The  old  woman 
had  n't  oughter  let  you  —  nor  Cress  either. 
Hark  to  me,  Mr.  Ford !  I  reckon  to  stand 
between  you  and  both  the  Davises  till  the 
cows  come  home  —  only  —  mind  you  give 
him  the  go-by  when  he  happens  to  meander 
along  towards  you." 

"I  'in  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said 
Ford  with  disproportionately  sudden  choler ; 
"  but  I  don't  propose  to  alter  my  habits  for 
a  ridiculous  school -boy  whom  I  have  dis- 
missed." The  unjust  and  boyish  petulance 
of  his  speech  instantly  flashed  upon  him, 
and  he  felt  his  cheek  burn  again. 

McKinstry  regarded  him  with  dull,  red, 
slumbrous  eyes.  "Don't  you  go  to  lose 
your  best  holt,  Mr.  Ford  —  and  that  's  kam. 
Keep  your  kam  —  and  you  've  allus  got  the 
dead  wood  on  Injin  Springs.  /  ain't  got 
it,"  he  continued,  in  his  slowest,  most  pas- 
sionless manner,  "  and  a  row  more  or  less 
ain't  much  account  to  me  —  but  you,  you 
keep  your  kam."  He  paused,  stepped  back, 
and  regarding  the  master,  with  a  slight 
wave  of  his  crippled  hand  over  his  whole 
person,  as  if  indicating  some  personal  adorn- 
ment, said,  "  It  sets  you  off !  " 

He  nodded,   turned,   and   reentered    the 


128  CRESS  7. 

ball-room.  Mr.  Ford,  without  trusting  him- 
self  to  further  speech,  elbowed  his  way 
through  the  crowded  staircase  to  the  street. 
But  even  there  his  strange  anger,  as  well  as 
the  equally  strange  remorse,  which  had 
seized  him  in  McKinstry's  presence,  seemed 
to  evaporate  in  the  clear  moonlight  and  soft 
summer  air.  There  was  the  river-bank, 
with  the  tremulous  river  glancing  through 
the  dreamy  mist,  as  they  had  seen  it  from 
the  window  together.  He  even  turned  to 
look  back  on  the  lighted  ball-room,  as  if  she 
might  have  been  looking  out,  too.  But  he 
knew  he  should  see  her  again  to-morrow, 
and  he  hurriedly  put  aside  all  reserve,  all 
thought  of  the  future,  all  examination  of 
his  conduct,  to  walk  home  enwrapped  in  the 
vaguer  pleasure  of-  the  past.  Rupert  Filgee, 
to  whom  he  had  never  given  a  second 
thought,  now  peacefully  slumbering  beside 
his  baby  brother,  had  not  gone  home  in 
more  foolish  or  more  dangerous  company. 

When  he  reached  the  hotel,  he  was  sur- 
prised to  find  it  only  eleven  o'clock.  No  one 
had  returned,  the  building  was  deserted  by 
all  but  the  bar-keeper  and  a  flirting  cham- 
bermaid, who  regarded  him  with  aggrieved 
astonishment.  He  began  to  feel  very  foolish, 


CUES 8  Y.  129 

and  half  regretted  that  he  had  not  stayed 
to  dance  with  Mrs.  Tripp ;  or,  at  least,  re- 
mained as  a  quiet  onlooker  apart  from  the 
others.  With  a  hasty  excuse  about  return- 
ing to  write  letters  for  the  morning's  post, 
he  took  a  candle  and  slowly  remounted  the 
stairs  to  his  room.  But  on  entering  he 
found  himself  unprepared  for  that  singu- 
lar lack  of  sympathy  with  which  familiar 
haunts  always  greet  our  new  experiences ; 
he  could  hardly  believe  that  lie  had  left  that 
room  only  two  hours  before ;  it  seemed  so 
uncongenial  and  strange  to  the  sensation 
that  was  still  possessing  him.  Yet  there 
were  his  table,  his  books,  his  arm-chair,  his 
bed  as  he  had  left  them ;  even  a  sticky 
fragment  of  gingerbread  that  had  fallen 
from  Johnny's  pocket.  He  had  not  yet 
reached  that  stage  of  absorbing  passion 
where  he  was  able  to  put  the  loved  one  in 
his  own  surroundings ;  she  as  yet  had  no 
place  in  this  quiet  room ;  he  could  scarcely 
think  of  her  here,  and  he  must  think  of  her, 
if  he  had  to  go  elsewhere.  An  extravagant 
idea  of  walking  the  street  until  his  restless 
dream  was  over  seized  him,  but  even  in  his 
folly  the  lackadaisical,  moonstruck  quality 

of    such    a   performance   was   too   obvious. 
v-  24  E— Bret  Harte 


130  CRZSSY. 

The  school-house !  He  would  go  there ;  it 
was  only  a  pleasant  walk,  the  night  was 
lovely,  and  he  could  bring  the  myrtle-spray 
from  his  desk.  It  was  too  significant  now 
—  if  not  too  precious  —  to  be  kept  there. 
Perhaps  he  had  not  examined  it  closely,  nor 
the  place  where  it  had  lain  ;  there  might  be 
an  additional  sign,  word,  or  token  he  had 
overlooked.  The  thought  thrilled  him,  even 
while  he  was  calmly  arguing  to  himself  that 
it  was  an  instinct  of  caution. 

The  air  was  quieter  and  warmer  than  usual, 
though  still  characteristic  of  the  locality  in 
its  dry,  dewless  clarity.  The  grass  was  yet 
warm  from  the  day-long  sun,  and  when  he 
entered  the  pines  that  surrounded  the  school- 
house,  they  had  scarcely  yet  lost  their  spicy 
heat.  The  moon,  riding  high,  filled  the 
dark  aisles  with  a  delicious  twilight  that  lent 
itself  to  his  waking  dreams.  It  was  not 
long  before  to-morrow  ;  he  could  easily  man- 
age to  bring  her  here  in  the  grove  at  recess, 
and  would  speak  with  her  there.  It  did 
not  occur  to  him  what  he  should  say,  or  why 
he  should  say  it ;  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  he  had  no  other  provocation  than  her 
eyes,  her  conscious  manner,  her  eloquent  si- 
lence, and  her  admission  that  she  had  ex- 


ORES  ST.  131 

pected  him.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
all  this  was  inconsistent  with  what  he  knew 
of  her  antecedents,  her  character,  and  her 
habits.  It  was  this  very  inconsistency  that 
charmed  and  convinced  him.  We  arc  al- 
ways on  the  lookout  for  these  miracles  of 
passion.  We  may  doubt  the  genuineness 
of  an  affection  that  is  first-hand,  but  never 
of  one  that  is  transferred. 

He  approached  the  school-house  and  un- 
locking the  door  closed  it  behind  him,  not  so 
much  to  keep  out  human  intrusion  as  the 
invasion  of  bats  and  squirrels.  The  nearly 
vertical  moon,  while  it  perfectly  lit  the  play- 
ground and  openings  in  the  pines  around 
the  house,  left  the  interior  in  darkness,  ex- 
cept the  reflection  upon  the  ceiling  from  the 
shining  gravel  without.  Partly  from  a  sense 
of  precaution  and  partly  because  he  was  fa- 
miliar with  the  position  of  the  benches,  he 
did  not  strike  a  light,  and  reached  his  own 
desk  unerringly,  drew  his  chair  before  it  and 
unlocked  it,  groped  in  its  dark  recess  for  the 
myrtle  spray,  felt  its  soft  silken  binding 
with  an  electrical  thrill,  drew  it  out,  and  in 
the  security  of  the  darkness,  raised  it  to  his 
lips. 

To  make  room  for  it  in  his  breast  pocket 


132  CSJES8Y. 

he  was  obliged  to  take  out  his  letters  — 
among  them  the  well-worn  one  he  had  tried 
to  read  that  morning.  A  mingling  of  pleas- 
ure and  remorse  came  over  him  as  he  felt 
that  it  was  already  of  the  past,  and  as  he 
dropped  it  carelessly  into  the  empty  desk  it 
fell  with  a  faint,  hollow  sound  as  if  it  were 
ashes  to  ashes. 

What  was  that? 

The  noise  of  steps  upon  the  gravel,  light 
laughter,  the  moving  of  two  or  three  shad- 
ows on  the  ceiling,  the  sound  of  voices,  a 
man's,  a  child's,  and  hers  ! 

Could  it  be  possible  ?  Was  not  he  mis- 
taken ?  No  !  the  man's  voice  was  Masters' ; 
the  child's,  Octavia's ;  the  woman's,  hers. 

He  remained  silent  in  the  shadow.  The 
school-room  was  not  far  from  the  trail  where 
she  would  have  had  to  pass  going  home  from 
the  ball.  But  why  had  she  come  there  ?  had 
they  seen  him  arrive?  and  were  mischiev- 
ously watching  him  ?  The  sound  of  Cressy's 
voice  and  the  lifting  of  the  unprotected  win- 
dow near  the  door  convinced  him  to  the  con- 
trary. 

"There,  that'll  do.  Now  you  two  can 
step  aside.  'Tave,  take  him  over  to  yon 
fence,  and  keep  him  there  till  I  get  in.  No 


CRESS  Y.  133 

—  thank  you,  sir  — I  can  assist  myself. 
I  've  done  it  before.  It  ain't  the  first  time 
I  've  been  through  this  window,  is  it, 
'Tave?" 

Ford's  heart  stopped  beating.  There  was 
a  moment  of  laughing  expostulation,  the 
sound  of  retreating  voices,  the  sudden  dark- 
ening of  the  window,  the  billowy  sweep  of  a 
skirt,  the  faint  quick  flash  of  a  little  ankle, 
and  Cressy  McKinstry  swung  herself  into 
the  room  and  dropped  lightly  on  the  floor. 

She  advanced  eagerly  up  the  moonlit  pas- 
sage between  the  two  rows  of  benches. 
Suddenly  she  stopped;  the  master  rose  at 
the  same  moment  with  outstretched  warning 
hand  to  check  the  cry  of  terror  he  felt  sure 
would  rise  to  her  lips.  But  he  did  not  know 
the  lazy  nerves  of  the  girl  before  him.  She 
uttered  no  outcry.  And  even  in  the  faint 
dim  light  he  could  see  only  the  same  expres- 
sion of  conscious  understanding  come  over 
her  face  that  he  had  seen  in  the  ball-room, 
mingled  with  a  vague  joy  that  parted  her 
breathless  lips.  As  he  moved  quickly  for- 
ward their  hands  met ;  she  caught  his  with  a 
quick  significant  pressure  and  darted  back 
to  the  window. 

"  Oh,  'Tave  !  "  (very  languidly.) 


134  CRE8SY. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  two  had  better  wait  for  me  at  the 
edge  of  the  trail  yonder,  and  keep  a  lookout 
for  folks  going  by.  Don't  let  them  see  you 
hanging  round  so  near.  Do  you  hear? 
I  'm  all  right." 

With  her  hand  still  meaningly  lifted,  she 
stood  gazing  at  the  two  figures  until  they 
slowly  receded  towards  the  distant  trail. 
Then  she  turned  as  he  approached  her,  the 
reflection  of  the  moonlit  road  striking  up 
into  her  shining  eyes  and  eager  waiting  face. 
A  dozen  questions  were  upon  his  lips,  a 
dozen  replies  were  ready  upon  hers.  But 
they  were  never  uttered,  for  the  next  mo- 
ment her  eyes  half  closed,  she  leaned  for- 
ward and  fell  —  into  a  kiss. 

She  was  the  first  to  recover,  holding  his 
face  in  her  hands,  turned  towards  the  moon- 
light, her  own  in  passionate  shadow.  "  Lis- 
ten," she  said  quickly.  "  They  think  I 
came  here  to  look  for  something  I  left  in  my 
desk.  They  thought  it  high  fun  to  come 
with  me  —  these  two.  I  did  come  to  look 
for  something  —  not  in  my  desk,  but  yours." 

"  Was  it  this  ?  "  he  whispered,  taking  the 
myrtle  from  his  breast.  She  seized  it  with 
a  light  cry,  putting  it  first  to  her  lips  and 


CRESSY.  135 

then  to  his.  Then  clasping  his  face  again 
between  her  soft  palms,  she  turned  it  to  the 
window  and  said  :  "  Look  at  them  and  not 
at  me." 

He  did  so  —  seeing  the  two  figures  slowly 
walking  in  the  trail.  And  holding  her  there 
firmly  against  his  breast,  it  seemed  a  blas- 
phemy to  ask  the  question  that  had  been 
upon  his  lips. 

"  That 's  not  all,"  she  murmured,  moving 
his  face  backwards  and  forwards  to  her  lips 
as  if  it  were  something  to  which  she  was 
giving  breath.  "When  we  came  to  the 
woods  I  felt  that  you  would  be  here." 

"  And  feeling  that,  you  brought  him  ?  " 
said  Ford,  drawing  back. 

"Why  not?"  she  replied  indolently. 
"  Even  if  he  had  seen  you,  I  could  have 
managed  to  have  you  walk  home  with  me." 

"But  do  you  think  it's  quite  fair? 
Would  he  like  it  ?  " 

"  Would  he  like  it?  "  she  echoed  lazily. 

"  Cressy,"  said  the  young  man  earnestly, 
gazing  into  her  shadowed  face.  "  Have  you 
given  him  any  right  to  object  ?  Do  you  un- 
derstand me  ?  " 

She  stopped  as  if  thinking.  "  Do  you 
want  me  to  call  him  in  ?  "  she  said  quietly, 


136  CRESS  7. 

but  without  the   least  trace  of  archness  or 
coquetry.     "  Would  you  rather  he  were  here 

—  or  shall  we  go  out  now  and  meet  him  ? 
I  '11  say  you  just  came  as  I  was  going  out." 

What  should  he  say  ?  "  Cressy,"  he 
asked  almost  curtly,  "  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

It  seemed  such  a  ridiculous  thing  to  ask, 
holding  her  thus  in  his  arms,  if  it  were  true ; 
it  seemed  such  a  villainous  question,  if  it 
were  not. 

"I  think  I  loved  you  when  you  first 
came,"  she  said  slowly.  "It  must  have 
been  that  that  made  me  engage  myself  to 
him,"  she  added  simply.  "  I  knew  I  loved 
you,  and  thought  only  of  you  when  I  was 
away.  I  came  back  because  I  loved  you. 
I  loved  you  the  day  you  came  to  see  Maw 

—  even  when  I  thought  you  came  to  tell  her 
of  Masters,  and  to  say  that  you  couldn't 
take  me  back." 

"  But  you  don't  ask  me  if  /  love  you  ?  " 
"  But    you    do  —  you    could  n't   help    it 
now,"  she  said  confidently. 

What  could  he  do  but  reply  as  illogically 
with  a  closer  embrace,  albeit  a  slight  tremor 
as  if  a  cold  wind  had  blown  across  the  open 
window,  passed  over  him.  She  may  have 
felt  it  too,  for  she  presently  said,  "  Kiss  me 
and  let  me  go." 


CRESS  Y.  137 

"  But  we  must  have  a  longer  talk,  darling 
—  when  —  when  —  others  are  not  waiting." 

"  Do  you  know  the  far  barn  near  the 
boundary  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  used  to  take  your  books  there,  after- 
noons to  —  to  —  be  with  you,"  she  whis* 
pered,  "  and  Paw  gave  orders  that  no  one 
was  to  come  nigh  it  while  I  was  there.  Come 
to-morrow,  just  before  sundown." 

A  long  embrace  followed,  in  which  all  that 
they  had  not  said  seemed,  to  them  at  least, 
to  become  articulate  on  their  tremulous  and 
clinging  lips.  Then  they  separated,  he  un- 
locking the  door  softly  to  give  her  egress 
that  way.  She  caught  up  a  book  from  a 
desk  in  passing,  and  then  slipped  like  a  rosy 
shaft  of  the  coming  dawn  across  the  fading 
moonlight,  and  a  moment  after  her  slow 
voice,  without  a  tremor  of  excitement,  was 
heard  calling  to  her  companions. 


CHAPTER 


THE  conversation  which  Johnny  Filgee 
had  overheard  between  Uncle  Ben  and  the 
gorgeous  stranger,  although  unintelligible  to 
his  infant  mind,  was  fraught  with  some  sig- 
nificance to  the  adult  settlers  of  Indian 
Spring.  The  town  itself,  like  most  interior 
settlements,  was  originally  a  mining  encamp- 
ment, and  as  such  its  founders  and  settlers 
derived  their  possession  of  the  soil  under  the 
mining  laws  that  took  precedence  of  all 
other  titles.  But  although  that  title  was 
held  to  be  good  even  after  the  abandonment 
of  their  original  occupation,  and  the  estab- 
lishment of  shops,  offices,  and  dwellings  on 
the  site  of  the  deserted  places,,  the  suburbs 
of  the  town  and  outlying  districts  were  more 
precariously  held  by  squatters,  under  the 
presumption  of  their  being  public  land  open 
to  preemption,  or  the  settlement  of  school- 
land  warrants  upon  them.  Few  of  the  squat- 
ters had  taken  the  trouble  to  perfect  even 
these  easy  titles,  merely  holding  "  possession  " 


CRESS  Y.  139 

for  agricultural  or  domiciliary  purposes,  and 
subject  only  to  the  invasion  of  "jumpers," 
a  class  of  adventurers  who,  in  the  abeyance 
of  recognized  legal  title,  "  jumped  "  or  for- 
cibly seized  such  portions  of  a  squatter's 
domains  as  were  not  protected  by  fencing  or 
superior  force.  It  was  therefore  with  some 
excitement  that  Indian  Spring  received  the 
news  that  a  Mexican  grant  of  three  square 
leagues,  which  covered  the  whole  district, 
had  been  lately  confirmed  by  the  Govern- 
ment, and  that  action  would  be  taken  to  re- 
cover possession.  It  was  understood  that  it 
would  not  affect  the  adverse  possessions  held 
by  the  town  under  the  mining  laws,  but  it 
would  compel  the  adjacent  squatters  like 
McKinstry,  Davis,  Masters,  and  Filgee,  and 
jumpers  like  the  Harrisons,  to  buy  the  legal 
title,  or  defend  a  slow  but  losing  lawsuit. 
The  holders  of  the  grant  —  rich  capitalists 
of  San  Francisco  —  were  open  to  compro- 
mise to  those  in  actual  possession,  and  in  the 
benefits  of  this  compromise  the  unscrupu- 
lous "jumper,"  who  had  neither  sown  nor 
reaped,  but  simply  dispossessed  the  squatter 
who  had  done  both,  shared  equally  with  him. 
A  diversity  of  opinion  as  to  the  effect  of 
the  new  claim  naturally  obtained ;  the  older 


140  CRESS  Y. 

settlers  still  clung  to  their  experiences  of  an 
easy  aboriginal  holding  of  the  soil,  and  were 
sceptical  both  as  to  the  validity  and  justice 
of  these  revived  alien  grants  ;  but  the  newer 
arrivals  hailed  this  certain  tenure  of  legal 
titles  as  a  guarantee  to  capital  and  an  incen- 
tive to  improvement.  There  was  also  a 
growing  and  influential  party  of  Eastern  and 
Northern  men,  who  were  not  sorry  to  see  a 
fruitful  source  of  dissension  and  bloodshed 
removed.  The  feuds  of  the  McKinstrys  and 
Harrisons,  kept  alive  over  a  boundary  to 
which  neither  had  any  legal  claim,  would 
seem  to  bring  them  hereafter  within  the 
statute  law  regarding  ordinary  assaults  with- 
out any  ethical  mystification.  On  the  other 
hand  McKinstry  and  Harrison  would  each 
be  able  to  arrange  any  compromise  with  the 
new  title  holders  for  the  lands  they  possessed, 
or  make  over  that  "  actual  possession  "  for  a 
consideration.  It  was  feared  that  both  men, 
being  naturally  lawless,  would  unite  to  ren- 
der any  legal  eviction  a  long  and  dangerous 
process,  and  that  they  would  either  be  left 
undisturbed  till  the  last,  or  would  force  a 
profitable  concession.  But  a  greater  excite- 
ment followed  when  it  was  known  that  a  sec- 
tion of  the  land  had  already  been  sold  by 


CRESS  Y  141 

the  owners  of  the  grant,  that  this  section  ex- 
actly covered  the  debatable  land  of  the  Mc- 
Kinstry-Harrison  boundaries,  and  that  the 
new  landlord  would  at  once  attempt  its  legal 
possession.  The  inspiration  of  genius  that 
had  thus  effected  a  division  of  the  Harrison- 
McKinstry  combination  at  its  one  weak  spot 
excited  even  the  admiration  of  the  sceptics. 
No  one  in  Indian  Spring  knew  its  real  au- 
thor, for  the  suit  was  ostensibly  laid  in  the 
name  of  a  San  Francisco  banker.  But  the 
intelligent  reader  of  Johnny  Filgee's  late  ex- 
perience during  the  celebration  will  have  al- 
ready recognized  Uncle  Ben  as  the  man,  and 
it  becomes  a  part  of  this  veracious  chronicle 
at  this  moment  to  allow  him  to  explain,  not 
only  his  intentions,  but  the  means  by  which 
he  carried  them  out,  in  his  own  words. 

It  was  one  afternoon  at  the  end  of  his  usual 
solitary  lesson,  and  the  master  and  Uncle 
Ben  were  awaiting  the  arrival  of  Kupert. 
Uncle  Ben's  educational  progress  lately, 
through  dint  of  slow  tenacity,  had  somewhat 
improved,  and  he  had  just  completed  from 
certain  forms  and  examples  in  a  book  before 
him  a  "  Letter  to  a  Consignee "  informing 
him  that  he,  Uncle  Ben,  had  just  shipped 
"  2  cwt.  Ivory  Elephant  Tusks,  80  peculs  of 


142  CRESS  Y. 

rice  and  400bbls.  prime  mess  pork  from 
Indian  Spring ; "  and  another  beginning 
"Honored  Madam,''  and  conveying  in  ad- 
mirably artificial  phraseology  the  "  lamented 
decease"  of  the  lady's  husband  from  yellow 
fever,  contracted  on  the  Gold  Coast,  and 
Uncle  Ben  was  surveying  his  work  with  crit- 
ical satisfaction  when  the  master,  somewhat 
impatiently,  consulted  his  watch.  Uncle 
Ben  looked  up. 

"  I  oughter  told  ye  that  Rupe  did  n't  kal- 
kilate  to  come  to-day." 

"Indeed  — why  not?" 

"  I  reckon  because  I  told  him  he  need  n't. 
I  allowed  to  —  to  hev'  a  little  private  talk 
with  ye,  Mr.  Ford,  if  ye  didn't  mind." 

Mr.  Ford's  face  did  not  shine  with  invita- 
tion. "  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  only  remem- 
ber I  have  an  engagement  this  afternoon." 

"But  that  ain't  until  about  sundown," 
said  Uncle  Ben  quietly.  "  I  won't  keep  ye 
ez  long  ez  that." 

Mr.  Ford  glanced  quickly  at  Uncle  Ben 
with  a  rising  color.  "  What  do  you  know 
of  my  engagements  ?  "  he  said  sharply. 

"  Nothin',  Mr.  Ford,"  returned  Uncle  Ben 
simply  ;  "  but  hevin'  bin  layin'  round,  lookin' 
for  ye  here  and  at  the  hotel  for  four  or  five 


CRESST.  143 

days  allus  about  that  time  and  not  findin' 
you,  I  rather  kalkilated  you  might  hev' 
suthin'  reg'lar  on  hand." 

There  was  certainly  nothing  in  his  face  or 
manner  to  indicate  the  least  evasion  or  de- 
ceit, or  indeed  anything  but  his  usual  nai- 
vete, perhaps  a  little  perturbed  and  preoccu- 
pied by  what  he  was  going  to  say.  "  I  had 
an  idea  of  writin'  you  a  letter,"  he  continued, 
"  kinder  combinin'  practice  and  confidential 
information,  you  know.  To  be  square  with 
you,  Mr.  Ford,  in  pint  o'  fact,  I  've  got  it 
here.  But  ez  it  don't  seem  to  entirely  gibe 
with  the  facts,  and  leaves  a  heap  o'  things 
onsaid  and  onseen,  perhaps  it 's  jest  ez  wall 
ez  I  read  it  to  you  myself  —  putteh'  in  a 
word  here  and  there,  and  explainin'  it  gin'- 
rally.  Do  you  sabe  ?  " 

The  master  nodded,  and  Uncle  Ben  drew 
from  his  desk  a  rude  portfolio  made  from  the 
two  covers  of  a  dilapidated  atlas,  and  took 
from  between  them  a  piece  of  blotting-paper, 
which  through  inordinate  application  had  ac- 
quired the  color  and  consistency  of  a  slate, 
and  a  few  pages  of  copy-book  paper,  that  to 
the  casual  glance  looked  like  sheets  of  ex- 
ceedingly difficult  music.  Surveying  them 
with  a  blending  of  chirographic  pride,  ortho- 


144  CRESS  Y. 

graphic  doubt,  and  the  bashful  consciousness 
of  a  literary  amateur,  he  traced  each  line 
with  a  forefinger  inked  to  the  second  joint, 
and  slowly  read  aloud  as  follows :  — 

"  '  Mr.  Ford,  Teacher. 

"  '  DEAR  SIR,  —  Yours  of  the  12th  rec'd 
and  contents  noted.'  "  ("  I  did  n  t,"  explained 
Uncle  Ben  parenthetically,  "  receive  any  let- 
ter of  yours,  but  I  thought  I  might  heave  in 
that  beginning  from  copy  for  practice.  The 
rest  is  me.")  "  t  In  refference  to  my  having 
munney,'"  continued  Uncle  Ben  reading  and 
pointing  each  word  as  he  read,  "  '  and  being 
able  to  buy  Ditch  Stocks  an'  Land '"  — 

"  One  moment,"  said  Mr.  Ford  interrupt- 
ing, "  I  thought  you  were  going  to  leave  out 
copy.  Come  to  what  you  have  to  say." 

"  But  I  hev  —  this  is  all  real  now.  Hold 
on  and  you  '11  see,"  said  Uncle  Ben.  He  re- 
sumed with  triumphant  emphasis :  — 

"  '  When  it  were  gin'rally  allowed  that  I 
haddent  a  red  cent,  I  want  to  explain  to  you 
Mister  Ford  for  the  first  time  a  secret.  This 
here  is  how  it  was  done.  When  I  first  came 
to  Injian  Spring,  I  settled  down  into  the  old 
Palmetto  claim,  near  a  heap  of  old  taillings. 
Knowin'  it  were  against  rools,  and  regular 
Chinyman's  bizness  to  work  them  I  didd  n't 


CRESS  T.  145 

let  on  to  enyboddy  what  I  did  —  witch  wos 
to  turn  over  some  of  the  quarts  what  I 
thought  was  likely  and  Orrifferus.  Doing 
this  I  kem  uppon  some  pay  ore  which  them 
Palmetto  fellers  had  overlookt,  or  more  likely 
had  kaved  in  uppon  them  from  the  bank  on- 
known.  Workin'  at  it  in  od  times  by  and 
large,  sometimes  afore  sun  up  and  sometimes 
after  sundown,  and  all  the  time  keeping  up 
a  day's  work  on  the  clame  for  a  show  to  the 
boys,  I  emassed  a  honist  fortun  in  2  years 
of  50,000  dolers  and  still  am.  But  it  will 
be  askd  by  the  incredjulos  Reeder  How  did 
you  never  let  out  anything  to  Injian  Spring, 
and  How  did  you  get  rid  of  your  yeald? 
Mister  Ford,  the  Anser  is  I  took  it  twist  a 
month  on  hoss  back  over  to  La  Port  and  sent 
it  by  express  to  a  bank  in  Sacramento,  givin' 
the  name  of  Daubigny,  witch  no  one  in  La 
Port  took  for  me.  The  Ditch  Stok  and  the 
Land  was  all  took  in  the  same  name,  hens 
the  secret  was  onreviled  to  the  General  Eye 
—  stop  a  ininit,' ?'  he  interrupted  himself 
quickly  as  the  master  in  an  accession  of  im- 
patient scepticism  was  about  to  break  in  upon 
him,  "  it  ain't  all."  Then  dropping  his  voice 
to  a  tremulous  and  almost  funereal  climax, 
he  went  on:  — 


146  CREBBT. 

"  '  Thus  we  see  that  pashent  indurstry  is 
Rewarded  in  Spite  of  Mining  Rools  and 
Reggylashuns,  and  Predgudisses  agin  Furrin 
Labor  is  played  out  and  fleeth  like  a  shad-or 
contenueyeth  not  long  in  One  Spot,  and  that 
a  Man  may  apear  to  be  off  no  Account  and 
yet  Emass  that  witch  is  far  abov  rubles  and 
Fadith  not  Away. 

"  4  Hoppin'  for  a  continneyance 
"  '  of  your  fevors  I  remain, 
"  4  Yours  to  command, 
"  4  BENJ  D'  AUBIGNY.'  " 


gloomy  satisfaction  with  which  Uncle 
Ben  regarded  this  peroration  —  a  satisfac- 
tion that  actually  appeared  to  be  equal  to 
the  revelation  itself  —  only  corroborated  the 
master's  indignant  doubts. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  impulsively  taking  the 
paper  from  Uncle  Ben's  reluctant  hand, 
"  how  much  of  this  is  a  concoction  of  yours 
and  Rupe's  —  and  how  much  is  a  true  story  ? 
Do  you  really  mean  ?  "  — 

"  Hold  on,  Mr.  Ford  !  "  interrupted  Uncle 
Ben,  suddenly  fumbling  in  the  breast-pocket 
of  his  red  shirt,  "  I  reckoned  on  your  being 
a  little  hard  with  me,  remembering  our  first 
talk  'bout  these  things  —  so  I  allowed  I  'd 


CRESS  Y.  147 

bring  you  some  proof."  Slowly  extracting 
a  long  legal  envelope  from  his  pocket,  he 
opened  it,  and  drew  out  two  or  three  crisp 
certificates  of  stock,  and  handed  them  to  the 
master. 

"  Ther  's  one  hundred  shares  made  out  to 
Benj  Daubigny.  I  'd  hev  brought  you  over 
the  deed  of  the  land  too,  but  ez  it 's  rather 
hard  to  read  off-hand,  on  account  of  the  law 
palaver,  I  've  left  it  up  at  the  shanty  to  tackle 
at  odd  times  by  way  of  practising.  But  ef 
you  like  we  '11  go  up  thar,  and  I  '11  show  it 
to  you." 

Still  haunted  by  his  belief  in  Uncle  Ben's 
small  duplicities,  Mr.  Ford  hesitated.  These 
were  certainly  bond  fide  certificates  of  stock 
made  out  to  "  Daubigny."  But  he  had  never 
actually  accepted  Uncle  Ben's  statement  of 
his  identity  with  that  person,  and  now  it  was 
offered  as  a  corroboration  of  a  still  more  im- 
probable story.  He  looked  at  Uncle  Ben's 
simple  face  slightly  deepening  in  color  un- 
der his  scrutiny  —  perhaps  with  conscious 
guilt. 

"  Have  you  made  anybody  your  confidant  ? 
Rupe,  for  instance  ?  "  he  asked  significantly. 

"  In  course  not,"  replied  Uncle  Ben  with 
a  slight  stiffening  of  wounded  pride.  "  On'y 


148  CRESS  Y. 

yourself,  Mr.  Ford,  and  the  young  feller 
Stacey  from  the  bank  —  ez  was  obligated  to 
know  it.  In  fact,  I  wos  kalkilatin'  to  ask 
you  to  help  me  talk  to  him  about  that  yer 
boundary  land." 

Mr.  Ford's  scepticism  was  at  last  stag- 
gered. Any  practical  joke  or  foolish  com- 
plicity between  the  agent  of  the  bank  and  a 
man  like  Uncle  Ben  was  out  of  the  question, 
and  if  the  story  were  his  own  sole  invention, 
he  would  have  scarcely  dared  to  risk  so  ac- 
cessible and  uncompromising  a  denial  as  the 
agent  had  it  in  his  power  to  give. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Uncle  Ben.  "  Let 
me  congratulate  you,"  he  said  heartily,  "  and 
forgive  me  if  your  story  really  sounded  so 
wonderful  I  could  n't  quite  grasp  it.  Now 
let  me  ask  you  something  more.  Have  you 
had  any  reason  for  keeping  this  a  secret, 
other  than  your  fear  of  confessing  that  you 
violated  a  few  bigoted  and  idiotic  mining 
rules  —  which,  after  all,  are  binding  only 
upon  sentiment  —  and  which  your  success 
has  proved  to  be  utterly  impractical  ?  " 

"  There  was  another  reason,  Mr.  Ford," 
said  Uncle  Ben,  wiping  away  an  embarrassed 
smile  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  "  that  is, 
to  be  square  with  you,  why  I  thought  of 


CRESS  Y.  149 

consultin'  you.  I  did  n't  keer  to  have  Mc- 
Kinstry,  and  "  —  he  added  hurriedly,  "  in 
course  Harrison,  too,  know  that  I  bought  up 
the  title  to  thar  boundary." 

"  I  understand,"  nodded  the  master.  "  I 
should  n't  think  you  would." 

"  Why  shouldn't  ye?"  asked  Uncle  Ben 
quickly. 

"  Well  —  I  don't  suppose  you  care  to 
quarrel  with  two  passionate  men." 

Uncle  Ben's  face  changed.  Presently, 
however,  with  his  hand  to  his  face,  he  man- 
aged to  manipulate  another  smile,  only  it 
appeared  for  the  purpose  of  being  as  awk- 
wardly wiped  away. 

"  Say  one  passionate  man,  Mr.  Ford." 

"  Well, .  one  if  you  like,"  returned  the 
master  cheerfully.  "  But  for  the  matter  of 
that,  why  any  ?  Come  —  do  you  mind  tell- 
ing me  why  you  bought  the  land  at  all? 
You  know  it 's  of  little  value  to  any  but  Mc- 
Kinstry  and  Harrison." 

"  Soppose,"  said  Uncle  Ben  slowly,  with 
a  great  affectation  of  wiping  his  ink-spotted 
desk  with  his  sleeve,  "  soppose  that  I  had 
got  kinder  tired  of  seein'  McKinstry  and 
Harrison  allus  fightin'  and  scrimmagin'  over 
their  boundary  line.  Soppose  I  kalkilated 


150  CRESS  Y. 

that  it  war  n't  the  sort  o'  thing  to  induce 
folks  to  settle  here.  Soppose  I  reckoned 
that  by  gettin'  the  real  title  in  my  hands  I  'd 
have  the  deadwood  on  both  o'  them,  and  set- 
tle the  thing  my  own  way,  eh  ?  " 

"  That  certainly  was  a  very  laudable  in- 
tention," returned  Mr.  Ford,  observing  Un- 
cle Ben  curiously,  "  and  from  what  you  said 
just  now  about  one  passionate  man,  I  sup- 
pose you  have  determined  already  who  to 
favor.  I  hope  your  public  spirit  will  be  ap- 
preciated by  Indian  Spring  at  least  —  if  it 
is  n't  by  those  two  men." 

"  You  lay  low  and  keep  dark  and  you  '11 
see,"  returned  his  companion  with  a  hopeful- 
ness of  speech  which  his  somewhat  anxious 
eagerness  however  did  not  quite,  bear  out. 
"  But  you  're  not  goin'  yet,  surely,"  he  added, 
as  the  master  again  absently  consulted  his 
watch.  "  It 's  on'y  half  past  four.  It 's 
true  thar  ain't  any  more  to  tell,"  he  added 
simply,  "  but  I  had  an  idea  that  you  might 
hev  took  to  this  yer  little  story  of  mine  more 
than  you  'pear  to  be,  and  might  be  askin' 
questions  and  kinder  bedevlin'  me  with  jokes 
ez  to  what  I  was  goin'  to  do  —  and  all  that. 
But  p'raps  it  don't  seem  so  wonderful  to  you 
arter  all.  Come  to  think  of  it  —  squarely 


CRESS7.  151 

now,"  he  said,  with  a  singular  despondency, 
"  I  'm  rather  sick  of  it  myself  —  eh  ?  " 

"  My  dear  old  boy,"  said  Ford,  grasping 
both  his  hands,  with  a  swift  revulsion  of 
shame  at  his  own  utterly  selfish  abstraction, 
"  I  am  overjoyed  at  your  good  luck.  More 
than  that,  I  can  say  honestly,  old  fellow,  that 
it  could  n't  have  fallen  in  more  worthy  hands, 
or  to  any  one  whose  good  fortune  would  have 
pleased  me  more.  There !  And  if  I  've 
been  slow  and  stupid  in  taking  it  in,  it  is  be- 
cause it 's  so  wonderful,  so  like  a  fairy  tale 
of  virtue  rewarded  —  as  if  you  were  a  kind 
of  male  Cinderella,  old  man  !  "  He  had  no 
intention  of  lying  —  he  had  no  belief  that 
he  was :  he  had  only  forgotten  that  his  pre- 
vious impressions  and  hesitations  had  arisen 
from  the  very  fact  that  he  did  doubt  the  con- 
sistency of  the  story  with  his  belief  in  Uncle 
Ben's  weakness.  But  he  thought  himself 
now  so  sincere  that  the  generous  reader,  who 
no  doubt  is  ready  to  hail  the  perfect  equity 
of  his  neighbor's  good  luck,  will  readily  for- 
give him. 

In  the  plenitude  of  this  sincerity,  Ford 
threw  himself  at  full  length  on  one  of  the 
long  benches,  and  with  a  gesture  invited 
Uncle  Ben  to  make  himself  equally  at  his 


152  CRESS  T. 

ease.  "  Come,"  he  said  with  boyish  gayety, 
"  let 's  hear  your  plans,  old  man.  To  begin 
with,  who  's  to  share  them  with  you  ?  Of 
course  there  are  '  the  old  folks  at  home ' 
first ;  then  you  have  brothers  —  and  perhaps 
sisters  ?  "  He  stopped  and  glanced  with  a 
smile  at  Uncle  Ben  ;  the  idea  of  there  being 
a  possible  female  of  his  species  struck  his 
fancy. 

Uncle  Ben,  who  had  hitherto  always  exer- 
cised a  severe  restraint  —  partly  from  re- 
spect and  partly  from  caution  — over  his 
long  limbs  in  the  school-house,  here  slowly 
lifted  one  leg  over  another  bench,  and  sat 
himself  astride  of  it,  leaning  forward  on  his 
elbow,  his  chin  resting  between  his  hands. 

"  As  far  as  the  old  folks  goes,  Mr.  Ford, 
I  'm  a  kind  of  an  orphan." 

"  A  kind  of  orphan  ?  "  echoed  Ford. 

"  Yes,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  leaning  heavily 
on  his  chin,  so  that  the  action  of  his  jaws 
with  the  enunciation  of  each  word  slightly 
jerked  his  head  forward  as  if  he  were  im- 
parting confidential  information  to  the  bench 
before  him.  "  Yes,  that  is,  you  see,  I  'm  all 
right  ez  far  as  the  old  man  goes  —  he's 
dead ;  died  way  back  in  Mizzouri.  But  ez 
to  my  mother,  it 's  sorter  betwixt  and  be- 


CRE88Y.  153 

tween  —  kinder  unsartain.  You  see,  Mr. 
Ford,  she  went  off  with  a  city  feller  —  an 
entire  stranger  to  me  —  afore  the  old  man 
died,  and  that 's  wot  broke  up  my  sehoolin'. 
Now  whether  she 's  here,  there,  or  yon,  can't 
be  found  out,  though  Squire  Tompkins  al- 
lowed—  and  he  were  a  lawyer — that  the 
old  man  could  get  a  divorce  if  he  wanted, 
and  that  you  see  would  make  me  a  whole 
orphan,  ef  I  keerd  to  prove  title,  ez  the 
lawyers  say.  Well  —  thut  sorter  lets  the 
old  folks  out.  Then  my  brother  was  onc't 
drowned  in  the  North  Platt,  and  I  never 
had  any  sisters.  That  don't  leave  much 
family  for  plannin'  about  —  does  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  master  reflectively,  gazing 
at  Uncle  Ben,  "  unless  you  avail  yourself  of 
your  advantages  now  and  have  one  of  your 
own.  I  suppose  now  that  you  are  rich,  you  '11 
marry." 

Uncle  Ben  slightly  changed  his  position, 
and  then  with  his  finger  and  thumb  began  to 
apparently  feed  himself  with  certain  crumbs 
which  had  escaped  from  the  children's  lun- 
cheon-baskets and  were  still  lying  on  the 
bench.  Intent  on  this  occupation  and  with- 
out raising  his  eyes  to  the  master,  he  re- 
turned slowly,  "  Well,  you  see,  I  'm  sorter 
married  already." 


154  CRESS  Y. 

The  master  sat  up  quickly. 

"  What,  you  married  —  now  ?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  that 's  a  question.  It 's  a 
good  deal  like  my  beein'  an  orphan  —  oncer- 
tain  and  onsettled."  He  paused  to  pursue 
an  evasive  crumb  to  the  end  of  the  bench 
and  having  captured  it,  went  on :  "  It  was 
when  I  was  younger  than  you  be,  and  she 
war  n't  very  old  neither.  But  she  knew  a 
heap  more  than  I  did ;  and  ez  to  readin' 
and  writin',  she  was  thar,  I  tell  you,  every 
time.  You  'd  hev  admired  to  see  her,  Mr. 
Ford."  As  he  paused  here  as  if  he  had  ex- 
hausted the  subject,  the  master  said  impa- 
tiently, "  Well,  where  is  she  now  ?  " 

Uncle  Ben  shook  his  head  slowly.  "I 
ain't  seen  her  sens  I  left  Mizzouri,  goin'  on 
five  years  ago." 

"  But  why  have  n't  you  ?  What  was  the 
matter  ?  "  persisted  the  master. 

"  Well  —  you  see  —  I  runned  away.  Not 
she,  you  know,  but  / —  /scooted,  skedaddled 
out  here." 

"  But  what  for  ?  "  asked  the  master,  re- 
garding Uncle  Ben  with  hopeless  wonder. 
"Something  must  have  happened.  What 
was  it  ?  Was  she  "  — 

"  She  was  a  good  schollard,"  said  Uncle 


CRESS  7.  155 

Ben  gravely,  "  and  allowed  to  be  sech,  by  all. 
She  stood  about  so  high,"  he  continued,  in- 
dicating with  his  hand  a  medium  height. 
"  War  little  and  dark  complected." 

"  But  you  must  have  had  some  reason  for 
leaving  her  ?  " 

"  I  've  sometimes  had  an  idea,"  said  Un- 
cle Ben  cautiously,  "that  mebbee  runnin' 
away  ran  in  some  f  am  lies.  Now,  there  war 
my  mother  run  off  with  an  entire  stranger, 
and  yer  's  me  ez  run  off  by  myself.  And 
what  makes  it  the  more  one-like  is  that  jest 
as  dad  allus  allowed  he  could  get  a  devorce 
agin  mother,  so  my  wife  could  hev  got  one 
agin  me  for  leavin'  her.  And  it 's  almost 
an  evenhanded  game  that  she  hez.  It 's  there 
where  the  oncertainty  comes  in." 

"  But  are  you  satisfied  to  remain  in  this 
doubt?  or  do  you  propose,  now  that  you 
are  able,  to  institute  a  thorough  search  for 
her?" 

"  I  was  kalkilatin'  to  look  around  a  little," 
said  Uncle  Ben  simply. 

"  And  return  to  her  if  you  find  her  ?  " 
continued  the  master. 

"  I  did  n't  say  that,  Mr.  Ford." 

"  But  if  she  has  n't  got  a  divorce  from 
you  that 's  what  you  '11  have  to  do,  and  what 


156  CRESS T. 

you  ought  to  do  —  if  I  understand  your 
story.  For  by  your  own  showing,  a  more 
causeless,  heartless,  and  utterly  inexcusable 
desertion  than  yours,  I  never  heard  of." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Uncle  Ben  with 
exasperating  simplicity. 

"  Do  /think  so  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Ford,  in- 
dignantly. "  Everybody  '11  think  so.  They 
can't  think  otherwise.  You  say  you  deserted 
her,  and  you  admit  she  did  nothing  to  pro- 
voke it." 

"  No,"  returned  Uncle  Ben  quickly,  "  noth- 
in'.  Did  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Ford,  that  she 
could  play  the  pianner  and  sing  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Ford,  curtly,  rising  impa- 
tiently and  crossing  the  room.  He  was  more 
than  half  convinced  that  Uncle  Ben  was  de- 
ceiving him.  Either  under  the  veil  of  his 
hide-bound  simplicity  he  was  an  utterly  self- 
ish, heartless,  secretive  man,  or  else  he  was 
telling  an  idiotic  falsehood. 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  can  neither  congratulate 
you  nor  condole  with  you  on  what  you  have 
just  told  me.  I  cannot  see  that  you  have 
the  least  excuse  for  delaying  a  single  mo- 
ment to  search  for  your  wife  and  make 
amends  for  your  conduct.  And  if  you  want 
my  opinion  it  strikes  me  as  being  a  much 


CRESS  Y.  157 

more  honorable  way  of  employing  your  new 
riches  than  mediating  in  your  neighbors' 
squabbles.  But  it's  getting  late  and  I'm 
afraid  we  must  bring  our  talk  to  an  end. 
I  hope  you  '11  think  this  over  before  we  meet 
again  —  and  think  differently." 

Nevertheless,  as  they  both  left  the  school- 
house,  Mr.  Ford  lingered  over  the  locking 
of  the  door  to  give  Uncle  Ben  a  final  chance 
for  further  explanation.  But  none  came. 
The  new  capitalist  of  Indian  Spring  re- 
garded him  with  an  intensification  of  his 
usual  half  sad,  half  embarrassed  smile,  and 
only  said :  "  You  understand  this  yer  's  a 
secret,  Mr.  Ford?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Ford  with  ill-concealed 
irritation. 

"  'Bout  my  bein'  sorter  married  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  responded  dryly  ; 
"  it 's  not  a  taking  story." 

They  separated ;  Uncle  Ben,  more  than 
ever  involved  in  his  usual  unsatisfactory 
purposes,  wending  his  way  towards  his 
riches ;  the  master  lingering  to  observe  his 
departure  before  he  plunged,  in  virtuous 
superiority,  into  the  woods  that  fringed  the 
Harrison  and  McKinstry  boundaries. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  religious  attitude  which  Mrs.  Mc- 
Kinstry  had  assumed  towards  her  husband's 
weak  civilized  tendencies  was  not  entirely 
free  from  human  rancor.  That  strong  loyal 
nature  which  had  unsexed  itself  in  the  one 
idea  of  duty,  now  that  duty  seemed  to  be 
no  longer  appreciated  took  refuge  in  her 
forgotten  womanhood  and  in  the  infinitesi- 
mally  small  arguments,  resources,  and  ma- 
noeuvres at  its  command.  She  had  conceived 
a  singular  jealousy  of  this  daughter  who  had 
changed  her  husband's  nature,  and  who  had 
supplanted  the  traditions  of  the  household 
life;  she  had  acquired  an  exaggerated  de- 
preciation of  those  feminine  charms  which 
had  never  been  a  factor  in  her  own  domes- 
tic happiness.  She  saw  in  her  husband's 
desire  to  mitigate  the  savage  austerities  of 
their  habits  only  a  weak  concession  to  the 
powers  of  beauty  and  adornment  —  degrad- 
ing vanities  she  had  never  known  in  their 
life-long  struggle  for  frontier  supremacy  — 


CRES8Y.  159 

that  had  never  brought  them  victorious  out 
of  that  struggle.  "Frizzles,"  "  furblows," 
and  "  fancy  fixin's  "  had  never  helped  them 
in  their  exodus  across  the  plains ;  had  never 
taken  the  place  of  swift  eyes,  quick  ears, 
strong  hands,  and  endurance;  had  never 
nursed  the  sick  or  bandaged  the  wounded. 
When  envy  or  jealousy  invades  the  female 
heart  after  forty  it  is  apt  to  bring  a  bitter- 
ness which  knows  no  attenuating  compensa- 
tion in  that  coquetry,  emulation,  passionate 
appeal,  or  innocent  tenderness,  which  makes 
tolerable  the  jealous  caprices  of  the  younger 
woman.  The  struggle  for  rivalry  is  felt  to 
be  hopeless,  the  power  of  imitation  is  gone. 
Of  her  forgotten  womanhood  Mrs.  McKin- 
stry  revived  only  a  capacity  to  suffer  meanly 
and  inflict  mean  suffering  upon  others.  In 
the  ruined  castle  of  her  youth,  and  the  fall- 
ing in  of  banqueting  hall  and  bower,  the 
dungeon  and  torture  -  chamber  appeared  to 
have  been  left,  or,  to  use  her  own  metaphor, 
she  had  querulously  complained  to  the  par- 
son that,  "  Accordin'  to  some  folks,  she 
mout  hev  bin  the  barren  fig-tree  e-lected  to 
bear  persimmums." 

Her  methods  were  not  entirely  different 
from  those   employed  by  her  suffering  sis- 


160  CRES87. 

terhood  in  like  emergencies.  The  unlucky 
Hiram,  "  worrited  by  stock,"  was  hardly 
placated  or  consoled  by  learning  from  her 
that  it  was  only  the  result  of  his  own  weak- 
ness, acting  upon  the  cussedness  of  the 
stock-dispersing  Harrisons;  the  perplexity 
into  which  he  was  thrown  by  the  news  of 
the  new  legal  claim  to  his  land  was  not 
soothed  by  the  suggestion  that  it  was  a 
trick  of  that  Yankee  civilization  to  which 
he  was  meanly  succumbing.  She  who  had 
always  been  a  rough  but  devoted  nurse  in 
sickness  was  now  herself  overtaken  by 
vague  irregular  disorders  which  involved 
the  greatest  care  and  the  absence  of  all  ex- 
citing causes.  The  attendance  of  McKin- 
stry  and  Cressy  at  a  "  crazy  quilting  party  " 
had  brought  on  "  blind  chills ;  "  the  impor- 
tation of  a  melodeon  for  Cressy  to  play  on 
had  superinduced  an  "  innerd  rash,"  and  a 
threatened  attack  of  "palsy  creeps"  had 
only  been  warded  off  by  the  timely  post- 
ponement of  an  evening  party  suggested  by 
her  daughter.  The  old  nomadic  instinct, 
morbidly  excited  by  her  discontent,  caused 
her  to  lay  artful  plans  for  a  further  emigra- 
tion. She  knew  she  had  the  germs  of 
"  mash  fever  "  caught  from  the  adjacent 


CRESS  T.  161 

river ;  she  related  mysterious  information, 
gathered  in  "  class-  meeting,"  of  the  supe- 
rior facilities  for  stock  raising  on  the  higher 
foot-hills;  she  resuscitated  her  dead  and 
gone  Missouri  relations  in  her  daily  speech, 
to  a  manifest  invidious  comparison  with  the 
living ;  she  revived  even  the  incidents  of 
her  early  married  life  with  the  same  baleful 
intent.  The  acquisition  of  a  few  "  biled 
shirts  "  by  Hiram  for  festive  appearances 
with  Cressy  painfully  reminded  her  that  he 
had  married  her  in  "  hickory ;  "  she  further 
accented  the  change  by  herself  appearing  in 
her  oldest  clothes,  on  the  hypothesis  that  it 
was  necessary  for  some  one  to  keep  up  the 
traditions  of  the  past. 

Her  attitude  towards  Cressy  would  have 
been  more  decided  had  she  ever  possessed 
the  slightest  influence  over  her,  or  had  even 
understood  her  with  the  intuitive  sympa- 
thies of  the  maternal  relations.  Yet  she 
went  so  far  as  to  even  openly  regret  the 
breaking  off  of  the  match  with  Seth  Davis, 
whose  family,  at  least,  still  retained  the 
habits  and  traditions  she  revered ;  but  she 
was  promptly  silenced  by  her  husband  in- 
forming her  that  words  "  that  had  to  be  tuk 

back  "  had  already  passed  between  him  and 
v.  24  F— Bret  Harte 


162  CREB8T. 

Seth's  father,  and  that,  according  to  those 
same  traditions,  blood  was  more  likely  to  be 
spilled  than  mingled.  Whether  she  was 
only  withheld  from  attempting  a  reconcili- 
ation herself  through  lack  of  tact  and  op- 
portunity remains  to  be  seen.  For  the 
present  she  encouraged  Masters's  attentions 
under  a  new  and  vague  idea  that  a  flirtation 
which  distracted  Cressy  from  her  studies 
was  displeasing  to  McKinstry  and  inimical 
to  his  plans.  Blindly  ignorant  of  Mr. 
Ford's  possible  relations  to  her  daughter, 
and  suspecting  nothing,  she  felt  towards 
him  only  a  dull  aversion  as  being  the  sense- 
less pivot  of  her  troubles.  Seeing  no  one, 
and  habitually  closing  her  ears  to  any  fam- 
ily allusion  to  Cressy's  social  triumphs,  she 
was  unaware  of  even  the  popular  admiration 
their  memorable  waltz  had  excited. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  that  Uncle 
Ben  had  confided  to  the  master  his  ingen- 
ious plan  for  settling  the  boundary  disputes, 
the  barking  of  McKinstry's  yellow  dog  an- 
nounced the  approach  of  a  stranger  to  the 
ranch.  It  proved  to  be  Mr.  Stacey  —  not 
only  as  dazzlingly  arrayed  as  when  he  first 
rose  above  Johnny  Filgee's  horizon,  but 
wearing,  in  addition  to  his  jaunty  business 


CRESS  T.  163 

air,  a  look  of  complacent  expectation  of  the 
pretty  girl  whom  he  had  met  at  the  ball. 
He  had  not  seen  her  for  a  month.  It  was 
a  happy  inspiration  of  his  own  that  enabled 
him  to  present  himself  that  morning  in  the 
twin  functions  of  a  victorious  Mercury  and 
Apollo. 

McKinstry  had  to  be  summoned  from  an 
adjacent  meadow,  while  Cressy,  in  the  mean 
time,  undertook  to  entertain  the  gallant 
stranger.  This  was  easily  done.  It  was 
part  of  her  fascinations  that,  disdaining  the 
ordinary  real  or  assumed  ignorance  of  the 
ingenue  of  her  class,  she  generally  exhibited 
to  her  admirers  (with  perhaps  the  single 
exception  of  the  master)  a  laughing  con- 
sciousness of  the  state  of  mind  into  which 
her  charms  had  thrown  them.  She  under- 
stood their  passion  if  she  could  not  accept 
it.  This  to  a  bashful  rustic  community  was 
helpful,  but  in  the  main  unsatisfactory ; 
with  advances  so  promptly  unmasked,  the 
most  strategic  retreat  was  apt  to  become  an 
utter  rout.  Leaning  against  the  lintel  of 
the  door,  her  curved  hand  shading  the 
sparkling  depths  of  her  eyes,  and  the  sun- 
light striking  down  upon  the  pretty  curves 
of  her  languid  figure,  she  awaited  the  at- 
tack- 


164  CRE88Y. 

"  I  have  n't  seen  you,  Miss  Cressy,  since 
we  danced  together  —  a  month  ago." 

"That  was  mighty  rough  papers,"  said 
Cressy,  who  was  purposely  dialectical  to 
strangers,  "  considering  that  you  trapsed  up 
and  down  the  lane,  past  the  house,  twice 
yesterday." 

"  Then  you  saw  me  ?  "  said  the  young  man, 
with  a  slightly  discomfited  laugh. 

44 1  did.  And  so  did  the  hound,  and  so,  I 
reckon,  did  Joe  Masters  and  the  hired  man. 
And  when  you  pranced  back  on  the  home 
stretch,  there  was  the  hound,  Masters,  the 
hired  man,  and  Maw  all  on  your  trail,  and 
Paw  bringin'  up  the  rear  with  a  shot-gun. 
There  was  about  a  half  a  mile  of  you  alto- 
gether." She  removed  her  hand  from  her 
eyes  to  indicate  with  a  lazily  grcuvful  s\vot>p 
this  somewhat  imaginative  procession,  and 
laughed. 

You  are  certainly  well  guarded,"  said 
Stacey  bositatingly ;  "and  looking  at  you, 
Miss  Cressy,1'  he  added  boldly,  "I  don't 
wonder  at  it" 

"  Well,  it  w  reckoned  that  next  to  Paw's 
boundaries  I'm  pretty  well  protected  from 
squatters  and  jumpers." 

Forceful  and  quaint  as  her  language  was. 


CRESSY.  165 

the  lazy  sweetness  of  her  intonation,  and  the 
delicate  refinement  of  her  face,  more  than 
atoned  for  it.  It  was  unconventional  and 
picturesque  as  her  gestures.  So  at  least 
thought  Mr.  Stacey,  and  it  emboldened  him 
to  further  gallantry. 

"  Well,  Miss  Cressy,  as  my  business  with 
your  father  to-day  was  to  try  to  effect  a  com- 
promise of  his  boundary  claims,  perhaps  you 
might  accept  my  services  in  your  own  be- 
half." 

"Which  means,"  responded  the  young 
lady  pertly,  "the  same  thing  to  me  as  to 
Paw.  No  trespassers  but  yourself.  Thank 
you,  sir."  She  twirled  lightly  on  her  heel 
and  dropped  him  that  exaggerated  curtsey 
known  to  the  school-children  as  a  "  cheese." 
It  permitted  in  its  progress  the  glimpse  of  a 
pretty  little  slipper  which  completed  his 
subjugation. 

"  Well,  if  it 's  only  a  fair  compromise,"  he 
began  laughingly. 

"  Compromise  means  somebody  giving  up. 
Who  is  it?  "she  asked. 

The  infatuated  Stacey  had  reached  the 
point  of  thinking  this  repartee  if  possible 
more  killing  than  his  own. 

"  Ha !    That 's  for  Migg  Crewy  to  say." 


166  CREsar. 

But  the  young  lady  leaning  back  against 
the  lintel  with  the  comfortable  ease  of  being 
irresponsibly  diverted,  sagely  pointed  out 
that  that  was  the  function  of  the  arbitrator. 

"  Ah  well,  suppose  we  begin  by  giving  up 
Seth  Davis,  eh  ?  You  see  that  I  'm  pretty 
well  posted,  Miss  Cressy." 

"You  alarm  me,"  said  Cressy  sweetly. 
"  But  I  reckon  he  had  given  up." 

"  He  was  in  the  running  that  night  at  the 
ball.  Looked  half  savage  while  I  was  dan- 
cing with  you.  Wanted  to  eat  me." 

"  Poor  Seth  !  And  he  used  to  be  so  par- 
ticular in  his  food,"  said  the  witty  Cressy. 

Mr.  Stacey  was  convulsed.  "  And  there 's 
Mr.  Dabney — Uncle  Ben,"  he  continued, 
"  eh  ?  Very  quiet  but  very  sly.  A  dark 
horse,  eh  ?  Pretends  to  take  lessons  for  the 
sake  of  being  near  some  one,  eh  ?  Would 
he  were  a  boy  again  because  somebody  else 
is  a  girl?" 

"  I  should  be  frightened  of  you  if  you  lived 
here  always,"  returned  Cressy  with  invincible 
naivete ;  "  but  perhaps  then  you  would  n't 
know  so  much." 

Stacey  simply  accepted  this  as  a  compli- 
ment. "  And  there  's  Masters,"  he  said  in- 
sinuatingly. 


CRESB7.  167 

"Not  Joe?  "  said  Cressy  with  a  low  laugh, 
turning  her  eyes  to  the  door. 

"  Yes,"  said  Stacey  with  a  quick,  uneasy 
smile.  "  Ah !  I  see  we  must  n't  drop  him. 
Is  he  out  there  ?  "  he  added,  trying  to  follow 
the  direction  of  her  eyes. 

But  the  young  girl  kept  her  face  studiously 
averted.  "  Is  that  all  ?  "  she  asked  after  a 
pause. 

"  Well  —  there 's  that  solemn  school-mas- 
ter, who  cut  me  out  of  the  waltz  with  you  — 
that  Mr.  Ford." 

Had  he  been  a  perfectly  cool  and  impartial 
observer  he  would  have  seen  the  slight  tremor 
cross  Cressy's  soft  eyelids  even  in  profile, 
followed  by  that  momentary  arrest  of  her 
whole  face,  mouth,  dimples,  and  eyes,  which 
had  overtaken  it  the  night  the  master  entered 
the  ball-room.  But  he  was  neither,  and  it 
passed  quickly  and  unnoticed.  Her  usual 
lithe  but  languid  play  of  expression  and  color 
came  back,  and  she  turned  her  head  lazily 
towards  the  speaker.  "  There 's  Paw  coming. 
I  suppose  you  would  n't  mind  giving  me  a 
sample  of  your  style  of  arbitrating  with  him, 
before  you  try  it  on  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Stacey,  by  no  means 
displeased  at  the  prospect  of  having  so  pretty 


168 

and  intelligent  a  witness  in  the  daughter  of 
what  he  believed  would  form  an  attractive 
display  of  his  diplomatic  skill  and  gracious- 
ness  to  the  father.  "  Don't  go  away.  I  've 
got  nothing  to  say  Miss  Cressy  could  not 
understand  and  answer." 

The  jingling  of  spurs,  and  the  shadow  of 
McKinstry  and  his  shot-gun  falling  at  this 
moment  between  the  speaker  and  Cressy, 
spared  her  the  necessity  of  a  reply.  Me- 
Kinstry  cast  an  uneasy  glance  around  the 
apartment,  and  not  seeing  Mrs.  McKinstry 
looked  relieved,  and  even  the  deep  traces 
of  the  loss  of  a  valuable  steer  that  morning 
partly  faded  from  his  Indian-red  complexion. 
He  placed  his  shot-gun  carefully  in  the  cor- 
ner, took  his  soft  felt  hat  from  his  head, 
folded  it  and  put  it  in  one  of  the  capacious 
pockets  of  his  jacket,  turned  to  his  daughter, 
and  laying  his  maimed  hand  familiarly  on 
her  shoulder,  said  gravely,  without  looking 
at  Stacey,  "What  might  the  stranger  be 
wantin',  Cress?" 

"  Perhaps  I  'd  better  answer  that  myself," 
said  Stacey  briskly.  "  I  'm  acting  for  Ben- 
ham  and  Co.,  of  San  Francisco,  who  have 
bought  the  Spanish  title  to  part  of  this  prop- 
erty. I"  — 


CSJESSY.  169 

"Stop  there !  "  said  McKinstry,  in  a  voice 
dull  but  distinct.  He  took  his  hat  from  his 
pocket,  put  it  on,  walked  to  the  corner  and 
took  up  his  gun,  looked  at  Stacey  for  the  first 
time  with  narcotic  eyes  that  seemed  to  drow- 
sily absorb  his  slight  figure,  then  put  the 
gun  back  half  contemptuously,  and  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  towards  the  door,  said: 
"  We  '11  settle  this  yer  outside.  Cress,  you 
stop  in  here.  There  's  man's  talk  goin'  on." 

"  But,  Paw,"  said  Cressy,  laying  her  hand 
languidly  on  her  father's  sleeve  without  the 
least  change  of  color  or  amused  expression. 
"  This  gentleman  has  come  over  here  on  a 
compromise." 

"  On  a  —  which  ?  "  said  McKinstry,  glanc- 
ing scornfully  out  of  the  door  for  some  rare 
species  of  mustang  vaguely  suggested  to  him 
in  that  unfamiliar  word. 

"  To  see  if  we  could  n't  come  to  some  fair 
settlement,"  said  Stacey.  "  I  've  no  objec- 
tion to  going  outside  with  you,  but  I  think 
we  can  discuss  this  matter  here  just  as  well." 
His  fine  feathers  had  not  made  him  a  coward, 
although  his  heart  had  beaten  a  little  faster 
at  this  sudden  recollection  of  the  dangerous 
reputation  of  his  host. 

"  Go  on,"  said  McKinstry. 


170  CRESS  7. 

"  The  plain  facts  of  the  ease  are  these," 
continued  Stacey,  with  more  confidence. 
"  We  have  sold  a  strip  of  this  property  cov- 
ering the  land  in  dispute  between  you  and 
Harrison.  We  are  bound  to  put  our  pur- 
chaser in  peaceable  possession.  Now  to  save 
time  we  are  willing  to  buy  that  possession  of 
any  man  who  can  give  it.  We  are  told  that 
you  can." 

"  Well,  considerin'  that  for  the  last  four 
years  I  've  been  fightin'  night  and  day  agin 
them  low-down  Harrisons  for  it,  I  reckon 
you  Ve  been  lied  to,"  said  McKinstry  delib- 
erately. "  Why  —  except  the  clearing  on 
the  north  side,  whar  I  put  up  a  barn,  thar 
ain't  an  acre  of  it  as  has  n't  been  shifted 
first  this  side  and  then  that  as  fast  ez  I  druv 
boundary  stakes  and  fences,  and  the  Harri- 
sons pulled  'em  up  agin.  Thar  ain't  more 
than  fifty  acres  ez  I  've  hed  a  clear  hold  on, 
and  I  would  n't  hev  had  that  ef  it  had  n't 
bin  for  the  barn,  the  raisin'  alone  o'  which 
cost  me  a  man,  two  horses,  and  this  yer  lit- 
tle finger." 

"  Put  us  in  possession  of  even  that  fifty 
acres,  and  we  'II  undertake  to  hold  the  rest 
and  eject  those  Harrisons  from  it,"  returned 
Stacey  complacently.  "  You  understand  that 


CUE  SB  7.  171 

the  moment  we've  made  a  peaceable  en- 
trance to  even  a  foothold  on  your  side,  the 
Harrisons  are  only  trespassers,  and  with  the 
title  to  back  us  we  can  call  on  the  whole 
sheriff's  posse  to  put  them  off.  That 's  the 
law." 

" That  ar  the  law?  "  repeated  McKinstry 
meditatively. 

"  Yes,"  said  Stacey.  "  So,"  he  continued, 
with  a  self-satisfied  smile  to  Cressy,  "far 
from  being  hard  on  you,  Mr.  McKinstry, 
we  're  rather  inclined  to  put  you  on  velvet. 
We  offer  you  a  fair  price  for  the  only  thing 
you  can  give  us  —  actual  possession  ;  and  we 
help  you  with  your  old  grudge  against  the 
Harrisons.  We  not  only  clear  them  out, 
but  we  pay  you  for  even  the  part  they  held 
adversely  to  you." 

Mr.  McKinstry  passed  his  three  whole 
fingers  over  his  forehead  and  eyes  as  if 
troubled  by  a  drowsy  aching.  '*  Then  you 
don't  reckon  to  hev  anythin'  to  say  to  them 
Harrisons  ?  " 

"  We  don't  propose  to  recognize  them  in 
the  matter  at  all,"  returned  Stacey. 

"  Nor  allow  'em  anythin'  ?  " 

"  Not  a  cent !  So  you  see,  Mr.  McKin- 
stry/' he  continued  magnanimously,  yet  with 


172  CRE88T. 

a  mischievous  smile  to  Cressy,  "  there  is  noth 
ing  in  this  amicable  discussion  that  require* 
to  be  settled  outside." 

"  Ain't  there  ? "  said  McKinstry,  in  a 
dull,  deliberate  voice,  raising  his  eyes  for 
the  second  time  to  Stacey.  They  were 
bloodshot,  with  a  heavy,  hanging  f urtiveness, 
not  unlike  one  of  his  own  hunted  steers. 
"But  I  ain't  kam  enuff  in  yer."  He  moved 
to  the  door  with  a  beckoning  of  his  fateful 
hand.  "  Outside  a  minit  —  e/*you  please." 

Stacey  started,  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  half  defiantly  stepped  beyond  the  thresh- 
old. Cressy,  unchanged  in  color  or  ex- 
pression, lazily  followed  to  the  door. 

"  Wot,"  said  McKinstry,  slowly  facing 
Stacey ;  "  wot  ef  I  refoose?  Wot  ef  I  say 
I  don't  allow  any  man,  or  any  bank,  or  any 
compromise,  to  take  up  my  quo'r'lls  ?  Wot 
ef  I  say  that  low-down  and  mean  as  them 
Harrisons  is,  they  don't  begin  to  be  ez  mean, 
ez  low-down,  ez  underhanded,  ez  sneakin'  ez 
that  yer  compromise  ?  Wot  ef  I  say  that  ef 
that 's  the  kind  o'  hogwash  that  law  and 
snivelization  offers  me  for  peace  and  quiet- 
ness, I  '11  take  the  fightin',  and  the  law- 
breakin',  and  the  sheriff,  and  all  h  — 11  for 
his  posse  instead  ?  Wot  ef  I  say  that  ?  " 


CRESS  Y.  173 

"  It  will  only  be  my  duty  to  repeat  it," 
said  Stacey,  with  an  affected  carelessness 
which,  however,  did  not  conceal  his  surprise 
and  his  discomfiture.  "  It 's  no  affair  of 
mine." 

"  Unless,"  said  Cressy,  assuming  her  old 
position  against  the  lintel  of  the  door,  and 
smoothing  the  worn  bear-skin  that  served  as 
a  mat  with  the  toe  of  her  slipper,  "unless 
you  Ve  mixed  it  up  with  your  other  arbitra- 
tion, you  know." 

"  Wot  other  arbitration  ?  "  asked  McKin- 
stry  suddenly,  with  murky  eyes. 

Stacey  cast  a  rapid,  half  indignant  glance 
at  the  young  girl,  who  received  it  with  her 
hands  tucked  behind  her  back,  her  lovely 
head  bent  submissively  forward,  and  a  pro- 
longed little  laugh. 

"  Oh  nothing,  Paw,"  she  said,  "  only  a 
little  private  foolishness  betwixt  me  and  the 
gentleman.  You'd  admire  to  hear  him 
talk,  Paw  — about  other  things  than  busi- 
ness. He 's  just  that  chipper  and  gay." 

Nevertheless,  as  with  a  muttered  "  Good- 
morning"  the  young  fellow  turned  away,  she 
quietly  brushed  past  her  father,  and  fol- 
lowed him  —  with  her  hands  still  penitently 
behind  her,  and  the  rosy  palms  turned  up- 


174  CRE88Y. 

ward  —  as  far  as  the  gate.  Her  single  long 
Marguerite  braid  of  hair  trailing  down  her 
back  nearly  to  the  hem  of  her  skirt,  ap- 
peared to  accent  her  demure  reserve.  At 
the  gate  she  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand, 
and  glanced  upward. 

"  It  don't  seem  to  be  a  good  day  for  arbi- 
trating. A  trifle  early  in  the  season,  ain't 
it?" 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  McKinstry." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  He  took  it  with 
an  affected  ease  but  cautiously,  as  if  it  had 
been  the  velvet  paw  of  a  young  panther  who 
had  scratched  him,  After  all,  what  was  she 
but  the  cub  of  the  untamed  beast,  McKin- 
stry ?  He  was  well  out  of  it !  He  was  not 
revengeful  —  but  business  was  business,  and 
he  had  given  them  the  first  chance. 

As  his  figure  disappeared  behind  the 
buckeyes  of  the  lane,  Cressy  cast  a  glance  at 
the  declining  sun.  She  reentered  the  house, 
and  went  directly  to  her  room.  As  she 
passed  the  window,  she  could  see  her  father 
already  remounted  galloping  towards  the 
tules,  as  if  in  search  of  that  riparian  "  kam  " 
his  late  interview  had  disturbed.  A  few 
straggling  bits  of  color  in  the  sloping  mead- 
ows were  the  children  coming  home  from 


CRESS T.  175 

school.  She  hastily  tied  a  girlish  sun-bonnet 
under  her  chin,  and  slipping  out  of  the  back 
door,  swept  like  a  lissom  shadow  along  the 
line  of  fence  until  she  seemed  to  melt  into 
the  umbrage  of  the  woods  that  fringed  the 
distant  north  boundary. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MEANWHILE,  unaware  of  her  husband's 
sudden  relapse  to  her  old  border  principles 
and  of  the  visit  that  had  induced  it,  Mrs. 
McKinstry  was  slowly  returning  from  a  lu- 
gubrious recital  of  her  moods  and  feelings 
at  the  parson's.  As  she  crossed  the  barren 
flat  and  reached  the  wooded  upland  midway 
between  the  school-house  and  the  ranch,  she 
saw  before  her  the  old  familiar  figure  of 
Seth  Davis  lounging  on  the  trail.  In  her 
habitual  loyalty  to  her  husband's  feuds  she 
would  probably  have  stalked  defiantly  past 
him,  notwithstanding  her  late  regrets  of  the 
broken  engagement,  but  Seth  began  to  ad- 
vance awkwardly  towards  her.  In  fact,  he 
had  noticed  the  tall,  gaunt,  plaid  -  shawled 
and  holland  -  bonneted  figure  approaching, 
and  had  waited  for  it. 

As  he  seemed  intent  upon  getting  in  her 
way  she  stopped  and  raised  her  right  hand 
warningly  before  her.  In  spite  of  the  shawl 
and  the  sun-bonnet,  suffering  had  implanted 


CHESS  T  177 

a  rude  Runic  dignity  to  her  attitude  "Words 
that  hev  to  be  took  back,  Seth  Davis, '  she 
said  hastily,  "hev  passed  between  you  and 
my  man.  Out  of  my  way,  then,  that  I  may 
pass,  too.'' 

"  Not  much  betwixt  you  and  me,  Aunt 
Rachel, '  he  said  with  slouching  deprecation, 
using  the  old  household  title  by  which  he 
had  familiarly  known  her.  l<  1  've  nothin 
agin  you  —  and  I  kin  prove  it  by  wot  1  'm 
yer  to  say.  And  I  ain't  trucklm'  to  yer  for 
myself,  for  ez  far  ez  me  and  your'n  ez  con- 
cerned," he  continued,  with  a  malevolent 
glance, "  thar  ain't  gold  enough  in  Caleforny 
to  mak  the  weddin'  ring  that  could  hitch  me 
and  Cress  together.  I  want  to  tell  you  that 
you  're  bein'  played  ;  that  you  're  bein'  be- 
fooled and  bamboozled  and  honey  -  fogled, 
Thet  while  you  're  groanin'  at  class-meetin1 
and  Hiram's  quo'llin'  with  Dad,  and  Joe 
Masters  waitin'  round  to  pick  up  any  bone 
that  's  throwed  him,  that  sneakin',  hypocrit- 
ical Yankee  school-master  is  draggin'  your 
daughter  to  h — 11  with  him  on  the  sly.*' 

"  Quit  that,  Seth  Davis,"  said  Mrs.  Me- 
Kinstry  sternly,  "  or  be  man  enough  to  tell 
it  to  a  man.  That  *s  Hiram's  business  to 
know." 


178  CRESS  T. 

"  And  what  if  he  knows  it  well  enough 
and  winks  at  it?  What  if  he  's  willin' 
enough  to  truckle  to  it,  to  curry  favor  with 
them  sneakin'  Yanks?"  said  Seth  malig- 
nantly. 

A  spasm  of  savage  conviction  seized  Mrs. 
McKinstry.  But  it  was  more  from  her 
jealous  fears  of  her  husband's  disloyalty 
than  concern  for  her  daughter's  transgres- 
sion. Nevertheless,  she  said  desperately, 
"  It  's  a  lie.  Where  are  your  proofs  ?  " 

"Proofs?"  returned  Seth.  "Who  is  it 
sneaks  around  the  school-house  to  have  pri- 
vate talks  with  the  school-master,  and  edges 
him  on  with  Cressy  afore  folks  ?  Your  hus- 
band. Who  goes  sneakin'  off  every  arter- 
noon  with  that  same  can  tin'  hound  of  a 
school-master  ?  Your  daughter.  Who  's 
been  carryin'  on  together,  and  hidin'  thick 
enough  to  be  ridden  out  on  a  rail  together  ? 
Your  daughter  and  the  school  -  master. 
Proofs  ?  —  ask  anybody.  Ask  the  children. 
Look  yar  —  you,  Johnny  —  come  here." 

He  had  suddenly  directed  his  voice  to  a 
blackberry  bush  near  the  trail,  from  which 
the  curly  head  of  Johnny  Filgee  had  just 
appeared.  That  home  -  returning  infant 
painfully  disengaged  himself,  his  slate,  his 


CRE88T.  179 

books,  and  his  small  dinner-pail  half  filled 
with  fruit  as  immature  as  himself,  and  came 
towards  them  sideways. 

"  Yer  's  a  dime,  Johnny,  to  git  some 
candy,"  said  Seth,  endeavoring  to  distort  his 
passion-set  face  into  a  smile. 

Johnny  Filgee's  small,  berry-stained  palm 
promptly  closed  over  the  coin. 

"  Now,  don't  lie.     Where  's  Cressy  ?  " 

«  Kithin'  her  bo." 

"Good  boy.     What  bo?" 

Johnny  hesitated.  He  had  once  seen  the 
school-master  and  Cressy  together  ;  he  had 
heard  it  whispered  by  the  other  children 
that  they  loved  each  other.  But  looking  at 
Seth  and  Mrs.  McKinstry  he  felt  that  some- 
thing more  tremendous  than  this  stupid 
fact  was  required  of  him  for  grown  -  up 
people,  and  being  honest  and  imaginative, 
he  determined  that  it  should  be  worth  the 
money. 

"  Speak  up,  Johnny,  don't  be  afeard  to 
tell." 

Johnny  was  not  "  afeard  "  —  he  was  only 
thinking.  He  had  it !  He  remembered  that 
he  had  just  seen  his  paragon,  the  brilliant 
Stacey,  coming  from  the  boundary  woods. 
What  more  poetical  and  gtartlingly  effective 


180  CRESS  r 

than  to  connect  him  with  Cressy  ?  He  re- 
plied promptly  :  — 

"  Mithter  Thtathy.  He  gived  her  a  watch 
and  ring  of  truly  gold.  Goiny  to  be  married 
at  Thacratnento," 

"You  lyin'  limb,*'  said  Seth,  seizing  him 
roughly.  But  Mrs.  McKinstry  interposed, 

"  Let  that  brat  go,"  she  said  with  gleam- 
ing eyes,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you.''  Seth 
released  Johnny,  "  It 's  a  trick,"  he  said, 
"he 's  bin  put  up  to  it  by  that  Ford." 

But  Johnny,  after  securing  a  safe  vantage 
behind  the  blackberry  bush,  determined  to 
give  them  another  trial  —  with  facts. 

"  I  know  mor'n  that,"  he  called  out, 

"  Git  —  you  measly  pup,"  said  Seth  sav- 
agely. 

"  I  know  Theriff  Briggth,  he  rid  over  the 
boundary  with  a  lot  o'  men  and  horthes," 
said  Johnny,  with  that  hurried  delivery  with 
which  he  was  able  to  estop  interruption. 
"  Theed  'em  go  by.  Maur  Harrithon  theth 
his  dad's  goin'  to  chuck  out  ole  McKin- 
thtry.  Hooray!" 

Mrs.  McKinstry  turned  her  dark  face 
sharply  on  Seth.  "What  's  that  he  sez  ?  " 

"Nothin'  but  children's  gassin',"  he  an- 
swered, meeting  her  eyes  with  an  evil  con- 


CRESS  Y.  181 

sciousness  half  loutish,  half  defiant,  "  and  ef 
it  war  true,  it  would  only  sarve  Hiram  Mc- 
Kinstry  right." 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  with 
swift  suspicion.  "  Out  o'  my  way,  Seth 
Davis/'  she  said  suddenly,  pushing  him 
aside.  "  Ef  this  ez  any  underhanded  work 
of  yours,  you  '11  pay  for  it." 

She  strode  past  him  in  the  direction  of 
Johnny,  but  at  the  approach  of  the  tall 
woman  with  the  angry  eyes,  the  boy  flew. 
She  hesitated  a  moment,  turned  again  with 
a  threatening  wave  of  the  hand  to  Seth,  and 
started  off  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the 
boundary. 

She  had  not  placed  so  much  faith  in  the 
boy's  story  as  in  the  vague  revelation  of  evil 
in  Davis's  manner.  If  there  was  any  "  cus- 
sedness  "  afoot,  Seth,  convinced  of  Cressy's 
unfaithfulness,  and  with  no  further  hope  of 
any  mediation  from  the  parents,  would 
know  it.  Unless  Hiram  had  been  warned, 
he  was  still  lulled  in  his  fatuous  dream  of 
civilization.  At  that  time  he  and  his  men 
were  in  the  tules  with  the  stock ;  to  be  sat- 
isfied, she  herself  must  go  to  the  boun- 
dary. 

She  reached  the  ridge  of  the  cottonwoods 


182  CRESS  Y. 

and  sycamores,  and  a  few  hundred  yards 
further  brought  her  to  the  edge  of  that  gen- 
tle southern  slope  which  at  last  sank  into  the 
broad  meadow  of  the  debatable  ground.  In 
spite  of  Stacey's  invidious  criticism  of  its 
intrinsic  value,  this  theatre  of  savage  dis- 
sension, violence,  and  bloodshed  was  by  some 
irony  of  nature  a  pastoral  landscape  of  sin- 
gular  and  peaceful  repose.  The  soft  glacis 
stretching  before  her  was  in  spring  cerulean 
with  lupins,  and  later  starred  with  maripo- 
sas.  The  meadow  was  transversely  crossed 
by  a  curving  line  of  alders  that  indicated  a 
rare  water-course,  of  which  in  the  dry  season 
only  a  single  pool  remained  to  flash  back  the 
unvarying  sky.  There  had  been  no  attempt 
at  cultivation  of  this  broad  expanse ;  wild 
oats,  mustard,  and  rank  grasses  left  it  a  toss- 
ing sea  of  turbulent  and  variegated  color 
whose  waves  rode  high  enough  to  engulf 
horse  and  rider  in  their  choking  depths. 
Even  the  traces  of  human  struggle,  the  up- 
rooted stakes,  scattered  fence -rails,  and 
empty  post-holes  were  forever  hidden  under 
these  billows  of  verdure.  Midway  of  the 
field  and  near  the  water-course  arose  Mc- 
Kinstry's  barn  —  the  solitary  human  struc- 
ture whose  rude,  misshapen,  bulging  side* 


CRESS  Y.  183 

and  swallow-haunted  eaves  bursting  with 
hay  from  the  neighboring  pasture,  seemed 
however  only  an  extravagant  growth  of  the 
prolific  soil.  Mrs.  McKinstry  gazed  at  it 
anxiously.  There  was  no  sign  of  life  or 
movement  near  or  around  it ;  it  stood  as  it 
had  always  stood,  deserted  and  solitary.  But 
turning  her  eyes  to  the  right,  beyond  the 
water-course,  she  could  see  a  slight  regular 
undulation  of  the  grassy  sea  and  what  ap- 
peared to  be  the  drifting  on  its  surface  of 
half  a  dozen  slouched  hats  in  the  direction  of 
the  alders.  There  was  no  longer  any  doubt ; 
a  party  from  the  other  side  was  approaching 
the  border. 

A  shout  and  the  quick  galloping  of  hoofs 
behind  her  sent  a  thrill  of  relief  to  her  heart. 
She  had  barely  time  to  draw  aside  as  her 
husband  and  his  followers  swept  past  her 
down  the  slope.  But  it  needed  not  his  fu- 
rious cry,  "  The  Harrisons  hev  sold  us  out," 
to  tell  her  that  the  crisis  had  come. 

She  held  her  breath  as  the  cavalcade  di- 
verged, and  in  open  order  furiously  ap- 
proached the  water-course,  and  she  could  see 
a  sudden  check  and  hesitation  in  the  move- 
ment in  the  meadow  at  that  unlooked-for 
onset.  Then  she  thought  of  the  barn.  It 


184  CRESS  Y. 

would  be  a  rallying-point  for  them  if  driven 
back  —  a  tower  of  defence  if  besieged. 
There  were  arms  secreted  beneath  the  hay 
for  such  an  emergency.  She  would  run 
there,  swing-to  its  open  doors,  and  get  ready 
to  barricade  them. 

She  ran  crouchingly,  seeking  the  higher 
grasses  and  brambles  of  the  ridge  to  escape 
observation  from  the  meadow  until  she  could 
descend  upon  the  barn  from  the  rear.  She 
threw  aside  her  impeding  shawl ;  her  brown 
holland  sun-bonnet,  torn  off  her  head  and 
hanging  by  its  strings  from  her  shoulders, 
let  her  coarse  silver  -  threaded  hair  stream 
like  a  mane  over  her  back ;  her  face  and 
hands  were  bleeding  from  thorns  and  whit- 
ened by  dust.  But  she  struggled  on  fiercely 
like  some  hunted  animal  until  she  reached 
the  descending  trail,  when,  letting  herself  go 
blindly,  only  withheld  by  the  long  grasses 
she  clutched  at  wildly  on  either  side,  she 
half  fell,  half  stumbled  down  the  slope  and 
emerged  beside  the  barn,  breathless  and  ex- 
hausted. 

But  what  a  contrast  was  there !  For  an 
instant  she  could  scarcely  believe  that  she 
had  left  the  ridge  with  her  husband's  savage 
outcry  in  her  ears,  and  in  her  eyes  the  swift 


CRESS  Y.  185 

vision  of  his  furious  cavalcade.  The  boun- 
dary meadow  was  hidden  by  the  soft  lines 
of  graceful  willows  in  whose  dim  recesses 
the  figures  of  the  passionate  horsemen 
seemed  to  have  melted  forever.  There  was 
nothing  now  to  interrupt  the  long  vista  of 
peaceful  beauty  that  stretched  before  her 
through  this  lonely  hollow  to  the  distant 
sleeping  hills.  The  bursting  barn  in  the 
foreground,  heaped  with  grain  that  fringed 
its  eaves  and  bristled  from  its  windows  and 
doors  until  its  unlovely  bulk  was  hidden  in 
trailing  feathery  outlines  ;  the  gentle  flutter 
of  wings  and  soothing  twitter  of  swallows 
and  jays  around  its  open  rafters,  and  the 
drifting  shadows  of  a  few  circling  crows 
above  it;  the  drowsy  song  of  bees  on  the 
wild  mustard  that  half  hid  its  walls  with  yel- 
low bloom;  the  sound  of  f  aintly  -  trickling 
water  in  one  of  those  old  Indian-haunted 
springs  that  had  given  its  name  to  the  lo- 
cality ;  all  these  for  an  instant  touched  the 
senses  of  this  hard,  fierce  woman  as  she  had 
not  been  touched  since  she  was  a  girl.  For 
one  brief  moment  the  joys  of  peace  and  that 
matured  repose  that  never  had  been  hers 
flashed  upon  her  ;  but  with  it  came  the  sav- 
age consciousness  that  even  now  it  was  being 


186  CREBB7. 

wrested  away,  and  the  thought  fired  her 
blood  again.  She  listened  eagerly  for  a  sec- 
ond in  the  direction  of  the  meadow ;  there 
was  no  report  of  fire-arms  —  there  was  yet 
time  to  prepare  the  barn  for  defence.  She 
ran  to  the  front  of  the  building  and  seized 
the  latch  of  the  half-closed  door.  A  little 
feminine  cry  that  was  half  a  laugh  came 
from  within,  with  the  rapid  rustle  of  a  skirt 
and  as  the  door  swung  open  a  light  figure 
vanished  through  the  rear  window.  The 
slanting  sunlight  falling  in  the  shadowed  in- 
terior disclosed  only  the  single  erect  figure 
of  the  school-master  —  John  Ford. 

The  first  confusion  and  embarrassment  of 
an  interrupted  rendezvous  that  had  colored 
Ford's  cheeks,  gave  way  to  a  look  of  alarm 
as  he  caught  sight  of  the  bleeding  face  and 
dishevelled  figure  of  Mrs.  McKinstry.  She 
saw  it.  To  her  distorted  fancy  it  seemed 
only  a  proof  of  deeper  guilt.  Without  a 
word  she  closed  the  heavy  door  behind  her 
and  swung  the  huge  cross-bar  unaided  to  its 
place.  She  then  turned  and  confronted  him, 
wiping  the  dust  from  her  face  and  arms  with 
her  torn  and  dangling  sun-bonnet  in  a  way 
that  recalled  her  attitude  on  the  first  day  he 
had  met  her. 


CRE8BT.  187 

"  That  was  Cress  with  ye  ?  "  she  said. 

He  hesitated,  still  gazing  at  her  in  won- 
der. 

"Don't  lie." 

He  started.  "  I  don't  propose  to,"  he  re- 
torted indignantly.  "  It  was  "  — 

"  I  don't  ask  ye  how  long  this  yer  's  bin 
goin'  on,"  she  said,  pointing  to  Cressy's  sun- 
bonnet,  a  few  books,  and  a  scattered  nosegay 
of  wild  flowers  lying  on  the  hay  ;  "  and  I 
don't  want  to  know.  In  five  minutes  either 
her  father  will  be  here,  or  them  hell-hounds 
of  Harrison's  who  've  sold  him  out  will  swarm 
round  this  barn  to  git  possesshun.  Ef  this 
yer  "  —  she  again  pointed  contemptuously  to 
the  objects  just  indicated  — "  means  that 
you  've  cast  your  lot  with  us  and  kalkilate  to 
take  our  bitter  with  our  sweet,  ye  '11  lift  up 
that  stack  of  hay  and  bring  out  a  gun  to  help 
defend  it.  Ef  you  're  rneanin'  any  thin'  else, 
Ford,  you  '11  hide  yourself  in  that  hay  till 
Hiram  comes  and  has  time  enough  to  attend 
to  ye." 

"  And  if  I  choose  to  do  neither  ?  "  he  said 
haughtily. 

She  looked  at  him  in  unutterable  scorn. 
"  There 's  the  winder  —  take  it  while  there  's 
time,  afore  I  bar  it.  Ef  you  see  Hiram,  tell 


188  CRESBT. 

him  ye  left  an  old  woman  behind  ye  to  de- 
fend the  place  whar  you  uster  hide  with  her 
darter." 

Before  he  could  reply  there  was  a  distant 
report,  followed  almost  directly  by  another. 
With  a  movement  of  irritation  he  walked  to 
the  window,  turned  and  looked  at  her  — 
bolted  it,  and  came  back. 

"Where's  that  gun?"  he  said  almost 
rudely. 

"  I  reckoned  that  would  fetch  ye,"  she 
said,  dragging  away  the  hay  and  disclosing  a 
long  trough-like  box  covered  with  tarpaulin. 
It  proved  to  contain  powder,  shot,  and  two 
guns.  He  took  one. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  know  what  I  am  fight- 
ing for  ?  "  he  said  dryly. 

"  Ye  might  say  '  Cress '  ef  they  "  —  indi- 
cating the  direction  of  the  reports  —  "  hap- 
pen to  ask  ye,"  she  returned  with  equal 
sobriety.  "  Jess  now  ye  kin  take  your  stand 
up  thar  in  the  loft  and  see  what 's  comin'." 

He  did  not  linger,  but  climbed  to  the  place 
assigned  him,  glad  to  escape  the  company  of 
the  woman  who  at  that  moment  he  almost 
hated.  In  his  unreflecting  passion  for  Cressy 
he  had  always  evaded  the  thought  of  this 
relationship  or  propinquity ;  the  mother  had 


CRESS T.  189 

recalled  it  to  him  in  a  way  that  imperilled 
even  his  passion  for  the  daughter  ;  his  mind 
was  wholly  preoccupied  with  the  idiotic,  ex- 
asperating, and  utterly  hopeless  position  that 
had  been  forced  upon  him.  In  the  bitterness 
of  his  spirit  his  sense  of  personal  danger  was 
so  far  absorbed  that  he  speculated  on  the 
chance  bullet  in  the  mel£e  that  might  end 
his  folly  and  relieve  him  of  responsibility. 
Shut  up  in  a  barn  with  a  furious  woman,  in 
a  lawless  defence  of  questionable  rights  — 
with  the  added  consciousness  that  an  equally 
questionable  passion  had  drawn  him  into  it, 
and  that  she  knew  it  —  death  seemed  to  offer 
the  only  escape  from  the  explanation  he  could 
never  give.  If  another  sting  could  have 
been  added  it  was  the  absurd  conviction  that 
Cressy  would  not  appreciate  his  sacrifice, 
but  was  perhaps  even  at  that  moment  calmly 
congratulating  herself  on  the  felicitousness 
of  the  complication  in  which  she  had  left 
him. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  shout  and  the  tramp- 
ling of  horse.  The  sides  of  the  loft  were 
scantily  boarded  to  allow  the  extension  of 
the  pent-up  grain,  and  between  the  interstices 
Ford,  without  being  himself  seen,  had  an 
uninterrupted  view  of  the  plain  between  him 


190  CRESS T. 

and  the  line  of  willows.  As  he  gazed,  five 
men  hurriedly  issued  from  the  extreme  left 
and  ran  towards  the  barn.  McKinstry  and 
his  followers  simultaneously  broke  from  the 
same  covert  further  to  the  right  and  galloped 
forward  to  intercept  them.  But  although 
mounted,  the  greater  distance  they  had  to 
traverse  brought  them  to  the  rear  of  the 
building  only  as  the  Harrison  party  came  to 
a  sudden  halt  before  the  closed  and  barri- 
caded doors  of  the  usually  defenceless  barn. 
The  discomfiture  of  the  latter  was  greeted  by 
a  derisive  shout  from  the  McKinstry  party 
—  albeit,  equally  astonished.  But  in  that 
brief  moment  Ford  recognized  in  the  leader 
of  the  Harrisons  the  well-known  figure  of 
the  Sheriff  of  Tuolumne.  It  needed  only 
this  to  cap  the  climax  of  the  fatality  that 
seemed  to  pursue  him.  He  was  no  longer  a 
lawless  opposer  of  equally  lawless  forces,  but 
he  was  actually  resisting  the  law  itself.  He 
understood  the  situation  now.  It  was  some 
idiotic  blunder  of  Uncle  Ben's  that  had  pre- 
cipitated this  attack. 

The  belligerents  had  already  cocked  their 
weapons,  although  the  barn  was  still  a  ram- 
part between  the  parties.  But  an  adroit 
flanker  of  McKinstry's,  creeping  through  the 


CRE887.  191 

tall  mustard,  managed  to  take  up  an  enfilad- 
ing position  as  the  Harrisons  advanced  to 
break  in  the  door.  A  threatening  shout 
from  the  ambuscaded  partisans  caused  them 
to  hurriedly  fall  back  towards  the  rear  of  the 
barn.  There  was  a  pause,  and  then  began 
the  usual  Homeric  chaff,  —  with  this  West- 
ern difference  that  it  was  cunningly  intended 
to  draw  the  other's  fire. 

"  Why  don't  you  blaze  away  at  the  door, 
yOU 1  It  won't  hurt  ye  !  " 

"  He  's  afraid  the  bolt  will  shoot  back !  " 
Laughter  from  the  McKinstrys. 

"  Come  outer  the  tall  grass  and  show  your- 
self, you  black,  mud-eating  gopher." 

"  He  can't.  He  's  dropped  his  grit  and  is 
sarchin'  for  it."  Goading  laughter  from  the 
Harrisons. 

Each  man  waited  for  that  single  shot 
which  would  precipitate  the  fight.  Even  in 
their  lawlessness  the  rude  instinct  of  the 
duello  swayed  them.  The  officer  of  the  law 
recognized  the  principle  as  well  as  its  practi- 
cal advantage  in  a  collision,  but  he  hesitated 
to  sacrifice  one  of  his  men  in  an  attack  on 
the  barn,  which  would  draw  the  fire  of  Mc- 
Kinstry  at  that  necessarily  fatal  range.  As 
a  brave  man  he  would  have  taken  the  risk 


192  CREBSY. 

himself,  but  as  a  prudent  one,  he  reflected 
that  his  hurriedly  collected  posse  were  all 
partisans,  and  if  he  fell  the  conflict  would 
resolve  itself  into  a  purely  partisan  struggle 
without  a  single  unprejudiced  witness  to  jus- 
tify his  conduct  in  the  popular  eye.  The 
master  also  knew  this  ;  it  had  checked  his 
first  impulse  to  come  forward  as  a  mediator ; 
his  only  reliance  now  was  on  Mrs.  McKins- 
try's  restraint  and  the  sheriff's  forbearance. 
The  next  instant  both  seemed  to  be  imper- 
illed. 

"  "Well,  why  don't  you  wade  in  ?  "  sneered 
Dick  McKinstry ;  "  who  do  you  reckon  's 
hidden  in  the  barn  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  ye,"  said  a  harsh,  passionate 
voice  from  the  hill-side.  "  It 's  Cressy  Mc- 
Kinstry and  the  school-master  hidin'  in  the 
hay." 

Both  parties  turned  quickly  towards  the 
intruder  who  had  approached  them  unper- 
ceived.  But  the  speech  was  followed  by  a 
more  startling  revulsion  of  sentiment  as  Mrs. 
McKinstry's  voice  rang  out  from  the  barn, 
"You  lie,  Seth  Davis!" 

The  brief  advantage  offered  to  the  sheriff 
in  Davis's  advent  as  a  neutral  witness,  was 
utterly  lost  by  this  unlooked-for  revelation 


CRE88Y.  193 

of  Mrs.  McKinstry's  presence  in  the  barn ! 
The  fates  were  clearly  against  him  !  A 
woman  in  the  fight,  and  an  old  one  at  that ! 
A  white  woman  to  be  forcibly  ejected  !  In 
the  whole  unwritten  code  of  Southwestern 
chivalry  there  was  no  such  precedent. 

"  Stand  back,"  he  said  disgustedly  to  his 
followers,  "  stand  back  and  let  the  d — d  barn 
slide.  But  you,  Hiram  McKinstry,  I  '11  give 
you  five  minutes  to  shake  yourself  clear  of 
your  wife's  petticoats  and  git !  "  His  blood 
was  up  now  —  the  quicker  from  his  momen- 
tary weakness  and  the  trick  of  which  he 
thought  himself  a  dupe. 

Again  the  fatal  signal  seemed  imminent, 
again  it  was  delayed.  For  Hiram  McKin- 
stry, with  clanking  spurs  and  rifle  in  hand 
stepped  from  behind  the  barn,  full  in  the 
presence  of  his  antagonists. 

"  Ez  to  my  gitten  in  five  minits,"  he  began 
in  his  laziest,  drowsiest  manner,  "  we  '11  see 
when  the  time's  up.  But  jest  now  words 
hev  passed  betwixt  my  wife  and  Seth  Davis. 
Afore  anythin'  else  goes  on  yer,  he 's  got  to 
take  Ms  back.  My  wife  allows  he  lies ;  I 
allow  he  lies  too,  and  I  stan'  here  to  say  it." 

The  right  of  personal  insult  to  precedence 

of  redress  was  too  old  a  frontier  principle  to 
v.  24  G— Bret  Harte 


194  CRESS  Y. 

be  gainsaid  now.  Both  parties  held  back 
and  every  eye  was  turned  to  where  Seth 
Davis  had  been  standing.  But  he  had  dis- 
appeared. 

Where  ? 

When  Mrs.  McKinstry  hurled  her  denial 
from  the  barn,  he  had  taken  advantage  of 
the  greater  surprise  to  leap  to  one  of  the 
trusses  of  hay  that  projected  beyond  the  loft, 
and  secure  a  footing  from  which  he  quickly 
scrambled  through  the  open  scantling  to  the 
interior.  The  master  who,  startled  by  his 
voice,  had  made  his  way  through  the  loose 
grain  to  the  rear,  reached  it  as  Seth  half 
crawled,  half  tumbled  through.  Their  eyes 
met  in  a  single  flash  of  rage,  but  before  Seth 
could  utter  an  outcry,  the  master  had  dropped 
his  gun,  seized  him  around  the  neck  and 
crammed  a  thick  handful  of  the  soft  hay  he 
had  hurriedly  snatched  up  into  his  face  and 
gasping  mouth.  A  furious  but  silent  strug- 
gle ensued  ;  the  yielding  hay  on  which  they 
both  fell  deadened  all  sound  of  a  scuffle  and 
concealed  them  from  view ;  masses  of  it,  al- 
ready loosened  by  the  intruder's  entrance, 
and  dislodged  in  their  contortions  began  to 
slip  through  the  opening  to  the  ground.  The 
master,  still  uppermost  and  holding  Seth 


CRESS  T.  195 

firmly  down,  allowed  himself  to  slip  with 
them,  shoving  his  adversary  before  him ;  the 
maddened  Missourian  detecting  his  purpose, 
made  a  desperate  attempt  to  change  his 
position,  and  succeeded  in  raising  his  knee 
against  the  master's  chest.  Ford,  guarding 
against  what  seemed  to  be  only  a  wrestler's 
strategy,  contented  himself  by  locking  the 
bent  knee  firmly  in  that  position,  and  thus 
unwittingly  gave  Seth  the  looked-for  oppor- 
tunity of  drawing  the  bowie-knife  concealed 
in  his  boot  leg.  He  knew  his  mistake  only 
as  Seth  violently  freed  his  arm,  and  threw 
it  upward  for  the  blow.  He  heard  the  steel 
slither  like  a  scythe  through  the  hay,  and 
unlocking  his  hold  desperately  threw  himself 
on  the  uplifted  arm.  The  movement  saved 
him.  For  the  released  body  of  Seth  slipped 
rapidly  through  the  opening,  upheld  for  a 
single  instant  on  the  verge  by  the  grasp  of 
the  master's  two  hands  on  the  arm  that  still 
held  the  knife,  and  then  dropped  heavily 
downward.  Even  then,  the  hay  that  had 
slipped  before  him  would  have  broken  his 
fall,  but  his  head  came  in  violent  contact 
with  some  farming  implements  standing 
against  the  wall,  and  without  a  cry  he  was 
stretched  senseless  on  the  ground.  The 


196  CZE8SY, 

whole  occurrence  passed  so  rapidly  and  so 
noiselessly  that  not  only  did  McKinstry's 
challenge  fall  upon  his  already  unconscious 
ears,  but  the  loosened  hay  which  in  the  mas- 
ter's struggles  to  recover  himself  still  con- 
tinued to  slide  gently  from  the  loft,  actually 
hid  him  from  the  eyes  of  the  spectators  who 
sought  him  a  moment  afterwards.  A  mass 
of  hay  and  wild  oats,  dislodged  apparently 
by  Mrs.  McKinstry  in  securing  her  defences, 
was  all  that  met  their  eyes  ;  even  the  woman 
herself  was  unconscious  of  the  deadly  strug- 
gle that  had  taken  place  above  her. 

The  master  staggered  to  an  upright  posi- 
tion half  choked  and  half  blinded  with  dust, 
turgid  and  bursting  with  the  rush  of  blood  to 
his  head,  but  clear  and  collected  in  mind, 
and  unremorsefully  triumphant.  Uncon- 
scious of  the  real  extent  of  Seth's  catastrophe 
he  groped  for  and  seized  his  gun,  examined 
the  cap  and  eagerly  waited  for  a  renewed  at- 
tack. "  He  tried  to  kill  me ;  he  would  have 
killed  me;  if  he  comes  again  I  must  kill 
him,"  he  kept  repeating  to  himself.  It 
never  occurred  to  him  that  this  was  incon- 
sistent with  his  previous  thought  —  indeed 
with  the  whole  tenor  of  his  belief.  Perhaps 
the  most  peaceful  man  who  has  been  once 


CRESS  T.  197 

put  in  peril  of  life  by  an  adversary,  who  has 
recognized  death  threatening  him  in  the  eye 
of  his  antagonist,  is  by  some  strange  para- 
dox not  likely  to  hold  his  own  life  or  the  life 
of  his  adversary  as  dearly  as  before.  Every- 
thing was  silent  now.  The  suspense  irri- 
tated him,  he  no  longer  dreaded  but  even 
longed  for  the  shot  that  would  precipitate 
hostilities.  What  were  they  doing  ?  Guided 
by  Seth,  were  they  concerting  a  fresh  at- 
tack? 

Listening  more  intently  he  became  aware 
of  a  distant  shouting,  and  even  more  dis- 
tinctly, of  the  dull,  heavy  trampling  of  hoofs. 
A  sudden  angry  fear  that  the  McKinstrys 
had  been  beaten  off  and  were  flying  —  a 
fear  and  anger  that  now  for  the  first  time 
identified  him  with  their  cause  —  came  over 
him,  and  he  scrambled  quickly  towards  the 
opening  below.  But  the  sound  was  ap- 
proaching and  with  it  came  a  voice. 

"  Hold  on  there,  sheriff  !  " 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  agent  Stacey. 

There  was  a  pause  of  reluctant  murmur- 
ing. But  the  warning  was  enforced  by  a 
command  from  another  voice  —  weak,  un- 
heroic,  but  familiar,  "  I  order  this  yer  to 
stop  —  right  yer  |  " 


198  CRESS  T. 

A  burst  of  ironical  laughter  followed. 
The  voice  was  Uncle  Ben's. 

"  Stand  back !  This  is  no  time  for 
foolin',''  said  the  sheriff  roughly. 

"He's  right,  Sheriff  Briggs,"  said  Sta- 
cey's  voice  hurriedly ;  "  you  're  acting  for 
him  ;  he  's  the  owner  of  the  land." 

«  What  ?     That  Ben  Dabney  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  he 's  Daubigny,  who  bought  the 
title  from  us." 

There  was  a  momentary  hush,  and  then  a 
hurried  murmur. 

"  Which  means,  gents,"  rose  Uncle  Ben's 
voice  persuasively,  "  that  this  yer  young 
man,  though  fair-minded  and  well-intended, 
hez  bin  a  leetle  too  chipper  and  previous  in 
orderin'  out  the  law.  This  yer  ain't  no  law 
matter  with  me,  boys.  It  ain't  to  be  set- 
tled by  law-papers,  nor  shot-guns  and  de- 
ringers.  It 's  suthiii'  to  be  chawed  over  so- 
ciable-like, between  drinks.  Ef  any  harm  hez 
bin  done,  ef  anythin's  happened,  I  'm  yer  to 
Memnify  the  sheriff,  and  make  it  comf'ble 
all  round.  Yer  know  me,  boys.  I  'm  talkin'. 
It 's  me  —  Dabney,  or  Daubigny,  which 
ever  way  you  like  it." 

But  in  the  silence  that  followed,  the  pas- 
sions had  not  yet  evidently  cooled.  It  was 


CRE8ST.  199 

broken  by  the  sarcastic  drawl  of  Dick  Mc- 
Kinstry:  "If  them  Harrisons  don't  mind 
heven  had  their  medders  trampled  over  by  a 
few  white  men,  why  "  — 

"  The  sheriff  ez  'demnified  for  that,"  in- 
terrupted  Uncle  Ben  hastily. 

"  'N  ef  Dick  McKinstry  don't  mind  the 
damage  to  his  pants  in  crawlin'  out  o'  gun- 
shot in  the  tall  grass  "  —  retorted  Joe  Harri- 
son. 

"  I  'm  yer  to  settle  that,  boys,"  said  Uncle 
Ben  cheerfully. 

"  But  who  '11  settle  this  f  "  clamored  the 
voice  of  the  older  Harrison  from  behind  the 
barn  where  he  had  stumbled  in  crossing  the 
fallen  hay.  "  Yer 's  Seth  Davis  lyin'  in  the 
hay  with  the  top  of  his  head  busted.  Who 's 
to  pay  for  that  ?  " 

There  was  a  rush  to  the  spot,  and  a  quick 
cry  of  reaction. 

"  Whose  work  is  this  ?  "  demanded  the 
sheriff's  voice,  with  official  severity. 

The  master  uttered  an  instinctive  excla- 
mation of  defiance,  and  dropping  quickly  to 
the  barn  floor,  would  the  next  moment  have 
opened  the  door  and  declared  himself,  but 
Mrs.  McKinstry,  after  a  single  glance  at  his 
determined  face,  suddenly  threw  herself  be- 


CREBBT. 


fore  him  with  an   imperious  gesture   of  si- 
lence.    Then  her  voice  rang  clearly  from  the 


e  if  it  's  the  hound  that  tried  to  force 
his  way  in  yer,  I  reckon  ye  kin  put  that 
down  to  ME  I" 


CHAPTER  X. 

IT  was  known  to  Indian  Spring,  the  next 
day,  amid  great  excitement,  that  a  serious 
fracas  had  been  prevented  on  the  ill-fated 
boundary  by  the  dramatic  appearance  of  Un- 
cle Ben  Dabney,  not  only  as  a  peacemaker, 
but  as  Mr.  Daubigny  the  bond  fide  purchaser 
and  owner  of  the  land.  It  was  known  and 
accepted  with  great  hilarity  that  "  old  marm 
McKinstry"  had  defended  the  barn  alone 
and  unaided,  with  —  as  variously  stated  —  a 
pitchfork,  an  old  stable-broom,  and  a  pail  of 
dirty  water,  against  Harrison,  his  party,  and 
the  entire  able  posse  of  the  Sheriff  of  Tuo- 
lumne  County,  with  no  further  damage  than 
a  scalp  wound  which  the  head  of  Seth  Davis 
received  while  falling  from  the  loft  of  the 
barn  from  which  he  had  been  dislodged  by 
Mrs.  McKinstry  and  the  broom  aforesaid. 
It  was  known  with  unanimous  approbation 
that  the  acquisition  of  the  land-title  by  a 
hitherto  humble  citizen  of  Indian  Spring 
was  a  triumph  of  the  settlement  over  foreign 


202  CRESS T. 

interference.  But  it  was  not  known  that  the 
school-master  was  a  participant  in  the  fight, 
or  even  present  on  the  spot.  At  Mrs.  Mc- 
Kinstry's  suggestion  he  had  remained  con- 
cealed in  the  loft  until  after  the  withdrawal 
of  both  parties  and  the  still  unconscious 
Seth.  When  Ford  had  remonstrated,  with 
the  remark  that  Seth  would  be  sure  to  de- 
clare the  truth  when  he  recovered  his  senses, 
Mrs.  McKinstry  smiled  grimly :  "  I  reckon 
when  he  comes  to  know  /  was  with  ye  all 
the  time,  he  'd  rather  hev  it  allowed  that 
I  licked  him  than  you.  I  don't  say  he  '11 
let  it  pass  ez  far  ez  you  're  concerned  or 
won't  try  to  get  even  with  ye,  but  he  won't 
go  round  tellin'  why.  However,"  she  added 
still  more  grimly,  "  if  you  think  you  're  ekul 
to  tellin'  the  hull  story  —  how  ye  kem  to  be 
yer  and  that  Seth  was  n't  lyin'  arter  all  when 
he  blurted  it  out  afore  'em  —  why  I  sha'n't 
hinder  ye."  The  master  said  no  more.  And 
indeed  for  a  day  or  two  nothing  transpired 
to  show  that  Seth  was  not  equally  reticent. 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Ford  was  far  from  be* 
ing  satisfied  with  the  issue  of  his  adventure. 
His  relations  with  Cressy  were  known  to 
the  mother,  and  although  she  had  not  again 
alluded  to  them,  she  would  probably  in- 


CRES3Y.  203 

form  her  husband.  Yet  he  could  not  help 
noticing,  with  a  mingling  of  unreasoning  re- 
lief and  equally  unreasoning  distrust,  that 
she  exhibited  a  scornful  unconcern  in  the 
matter,  apart  from  the  singular  use  to  which 
she  had  put  it.  He  could  hardly  count 
upon  McKinstry,  with  his  heavy,  blind  de- 
votion to  Cressy,  being  as  indifferent.  On 
the  contrary,  he  had  acquired  the  impres- 
sion, without  caring  to  examine  it  closely, 
that  her  father  would  not  be  displeased  at 
his  marrying  Cressy,  for  it  would  really 
amount  to  that.  But  here  again  he  was 
forced  to  contemplate  what  he  had  always 
avoided,  the  possible  meaning  and  result  of 
their  intimacy.  In  the  reckless,  thoughtless, 
extravagant  —  yet  thus  far  innocent  —  in- 
dulgence of  their  mutual  passion,  he  had 
never  spoken  of  marriage,  nor  —  and  it 
struck  him  now  with  the  same  incongruous 
mingling  of  relief  and  uneasiness  —  had 
she  !  Perhaps  this  might  have  arisen  from 
some  superstitious  or  sensitive  recollection 
on  her  part  of  her  previous  engagement  to 
Seth,  but  he  remembered  now  that  they  had 
not  even  exchanged  the  usual  vows  of  eter- 
nal constancy.  It  may  seem  strange  that, 
in  the  half-dozen  stolen  and  rapturous  in- 


204  CRESS  T. 

terviews  which  had  taken  place  between 
these  young  lovers,  there  had  been  no  sug- 
gestion of  the  future,  nor  any  of  those  glow- 
ing projects  for  a  united  destiny  peculiar  to 
their  years  and  inexperience.  They  had 
lived  entirely  in  a  blissful  present,  with  no 
plans  beyond  their  next  rendezvous.  In 
that  mysterious  and  sudden  absorption  of 
each  other,  not  only  the  past,  but  the  future 
seemed  to  have  been  forgotten. 

These  thoughts  were  passing  through  his 
mind  the  next  afternoon  to  the  prejudice 
of  that  calm  and  studious  repose  which  the 
deserted  school-house  usually  superinduced, 
and  which  had  been  so  fondly  noted  by 
McKinstry  and  Uncle  Ben.  The  latter  had 
not  arrived  for  his  usual  lesson ;  it  was  pos- 
sible that  undue  attention  had  been  at- 
tracted to  his  movements  now  that  his  good 
fortune  was  known ;  and  the  master  was 
alone  save  for  the  occasional  swooping  in- 
cursion of  a  depredatory  jay  in  search  of 
crumbs  from  the  children's  luncheons,  who 
added  apparently  querulous  insult  to  the 
larcenous  act.  He  regretted  Uncle  Ben's 
absence,  as  he  wanted  to  know  more  about 
his  connection  with  the  Harrison  attack  and 
his  eventual  intentions.  Ever  since  the 


CUES  ST.  205 

master  emerged  from  the  barn  and  regained 
his  hotel  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  he 
had  heard  only  the  vaguest  rumors,  and  he 
purposely  avoided  direct  inquiry. 

He  had  been  quite  prepared  for  Cressy's 
absence  from  school  that  morning  —  indeed 
in  his  present  vacillating  mood  he  had  felt 
that  her  presence  would  have  been  irksome 
and  embarrassing ;  but  it  struck  him  sud- 
denly and  unpleasantly  that  her  easy  deser- 
tion of  him  at  that  critical  moment  in  the 
barn  had  not  since  been  followed  by  the 
least  sign  of  anxiety  to  know  the  result  of 
her  mother's  interference.  What  did  she 
imagine  had  transpired  between  Mrs.  Mc- 
Kinstry  and  himself  ?  Had  she  confidently 
expected  her  mother's  prompt  acceptance 
of  the  situation  and  a  reconciliation  ?  Was 
that  the  reason  why  she  had  treated  that  in- 
terruption as  lightly  as  if  she  were  already 
his  recognized  betrothed  ?  Had  she  even  cal- 
culated upon  it  ?  had  she  —  ?  He  stopped, 
his  cheek  glowing  from  irritation  under  the 
suspicion,  and  shame  at  the  disloyalty  of 
entertaining  it. 

Opening  his  desk,  he  began  to  arrange 
his  papers  mechanically,  when  he  discovered, 
with  a  slight  feeling  of  annoyance,  that  he 


206  CRES8Y. 

had  placed  Cressy's  bouquet  —  now  dried 
and  withered  —  in  the  same  pigeon  -  hole 
with  the  mysterious  letters  with  which  he 
had  so  often  communed  in  former  days.  He 
at  once  separated  them  with  a  half  bitter 
smile,  yet  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  and 
with  his  old  sense  of  attempting  to  revive  a 
forgotten  association,  he  tried  to  re-peruse 
them.  But  they  did  not  even  restrain  his 
straying  thoughts,  nor  prevent  him  from 
detecting  a  singular  occurrence.  The  nearly 
level  sun  was,  after  its  old  fashion,  already 
hanging  the  shadowed  tassels  of  the  pine 
boughs  like  a  garland  on  the  wall.  But  the 
shadow  seemed  to  have  suddenly  grown 
larger  and  more  compact,  and  he  turned, 
with  a  quick  consciousness  of  some  inter- 
posing figure  at  the  pane.  Nothing  how- 
ever was  to  be  seen.  Yet  so  impressed  had 
he  been  that  he  walked  to  the  door  and 
stepped  from  the  porch  to  discover  the  in- 
truder. The  clearing  was  deserted,  there 
was  a  slight  rustling  in  the  adjacent  laurels, 
but  no  human  being  was  visible.  Neverthe- 
less the  old  feeling  of  security  and  isolation 
which  had  never  been  quite  the  same  since 
Mr.  McKinstry's  confession,  seemed  now  to 
have  fled  the  sylvan  school-house  altogether, 


CRESST.  207 

and  he  somewhat  angrily  closed  his  desk, 
locked  it,  and  determined  to  go  home. 

His  way  lay  through  the  first  belt  of  pinea 
towards  the  mining -flat,  but  to-day  from 
some  vague  impulse  he  turned  and  followed 
the  ridge.  He  had  not  proceeded  far  when 
he  perceived  Rupert  Filgee  lounging  before 
him  on  the  trail,  and  at  a  little  distance 
further  on  his  brother  Johnny.  At  the 
sight  of  these  two  favorite  pupils  Mr.  Ford's 
heart  smote  him  with  a  consciousness  that 
he  had  of  late  neglected  them,  possibly  be- 
cause Rupert's  lofty  scorn  of  the  "  silly  "  sex 
was  not  as  amusing  to  him  as  formerly,  and 
possibly  because  Johnny's  curiosity  had 
been  at  times  obtrusive.  He  however  quick- 
ened his  pace  and  joined  Rupert,  laying  his 
hand  familiarly  as  of  old  on  his  shoulder. 
To  his  surprise  the  boy  received  his  ad- 
vances with  some  constraint  and  awkward- 
ness, glancing  uneasily  in  the  direction  of 
Johnny.  A  sudden  idea  crossed  Mr.  Ford's 
mind. 

"  "Were  you  looking  for  me  at  the  school- 
room just  now?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  You  did  n't  look  in  at  the  window  to  see 
if  I  was  there  ?  "  continued  the  master. 


208  CRESS  Y. 

"No,  sir." 

The  master  glanced  at  Rupert.  Truth- 
telling  was  a  part  of  Rupert's  truculent 
temper,  although,  as  the  boy  had  often  bit- 
terly remarked,  it  had  always  "  told  agin' 
him." 

"All  right,"  said  the  master,  perfectly 
convinced.  "  It  must  have  been  my  fancy  ; 
but  I  thought  somebody  looked  in  —  or 
passed  by  the  window." 

But  here  Johnny,  who  had  overheard  the 
dialogue  and  approached  them,  suddenly 
threw  himself  upon  his  brother's  unoffend- 
ing legs  and  commenced  to  beat  and  pull 
them  about  with  unintelligible  protests.  Ru- 
pert, without  looking  down,  said  quietly, 
"  Quit  that  now  —  I  won't,  I  tell  ye,"  and 
went  through  certain  automatic  movements 
of  dislodging  Johnny  as  if  he  were  a  mere 
impeding  puppy. 

"What's  the  matter,  Johnny?"  said 
the  master,  to  whom  these  gyrations  were 
not  unfamiliar. 

Johnny  only  replied  by  a  new  grip  of  his 
brother's  trousers. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Rupert,  slightly  recover- 
ing his  dimples  and  his  readiness,  "  Johnny, 
yer,  wants  me  to  tell  ye  something.  Ef  he 


CRESS  T.  209 

was  n't  the  most  original  self -cocking,  God- 
forsaken liar  in  Injin  Spring  —  ef  he  did  n't 
lie  awake  in  his  crib  mornin's  to  invent  lies 
fer  the  day,  I  would  n't  mind  tellin'  ye,  and 
would  hev  told  you  before.  However,  since 
you  ask,  and  since  you  think  you  saw  some- 
body around  the  school  -  house,  Johnny  yer 
allows  that  Seth  Davis  is  spyin'  round  and 
followin'  ye  wherever  you  go,  and  he 
dragged  me  down  yer  to  see  it.  He  says 
he  saw  him  doggin'  ye." 

"With  a  knife  and  pithtolth,"  added 
Johnny's  boundless  imagination,  to  the  detri- 
ment of  his  limited  facts. 

Mr.  Ford  looked  keenly  from  the  one  to 
the  other,  but  rather  with  a  suspicion  that 
they  were  cognizant  of  his  late  fracas  than 
belief  in  the  truth  of  Johnny's  statement. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  it,  Rupert  ?  " 
he  asked  carelessly. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  said  Rupert,  "  that  allowin' 
—  for  onct  —  that  Johnny  ain't  lying,  mebbee 
it  's  Cressy  McKinstry  that  Seth  's  huntin' 
round,  and  knowin'  that  she  7s  always  run- 
nin'  after  you  "  —  he  stopped,  and  redden- 
ing with  a  newborn  sense  that  his  fatal 
truthfulness  had  led  him  into  a  glaring 
indelicacy  towards  the  master,  hurriedly 


210  CRESS  Y. 

added :  "  I  mean,  sir,  that  mebbee  it  *s 
Uncle  Ben  he  's  jealous  of,  now  that  he  's 
got  rich  enough  for  Cressy  to  hev  him,  and 
knowin'  he  conies  to  school  in  the  afternoon 
perhaps  "  — 

"  'T  ain't  either ! "  broke  in  Johnny 
promptly.  "  Theth  's  over  ther  beyond  the 
thchool,  and  Crethy  's  eatin'  ithecream  at 
the  bakerth  with  Uncle  Ben." 

"  Well,  suppose  she  is,  Seth  don't  know 
it,  silly  !  "  answered  Rupert,  sharply.  Then 
more  politely  to  the  master :  "  That  's  it ! 
Seth  has  seen  Uncle  Ben  gallivanting  with 
Cressy  and  thinks  he  's  bringing  her  over 
yer.  Don't  you  see  ?  " 

The  master  however  did  not  see  but  one 
thing.  The  girl  who  had  only  two  days  ago 
carelessly  left  it  to  him  to  explain  a  com- 
promising situation  to  her  mother  —  this 
girl  who  had  precipitated  him  into  a  frontier 
fight  to  the  peril  of  his  position  and  her 
good  name,  was  calmly  eating  ices  with  an 
available  suitor  without  the  least  concern  of 
the  past !  The  connection  was  perhaps  illog- 
ical, but  it  was  unpleasant.  It  was  the 
more  awkward  from  the  fact  that  he  fancied 
that  not  only  Rupert's  beautiful  eyes,  but 
even  the  infant  Johnny's  round  ones,  were 


CSESS7.  211 

fixed  upon  him  with  an  embarrassed  expres- 
sion of  hesitating  and  foreboding  sympathy. 

"  I  think  Johnny  believes  what  he  says  — 
don't  you,  Johnny  ?  "  he  smiled  with  an 
assumption  of  cheerful  ease,  "  but  I  see  no 
necessity  just  yet  for  binding  Seth  Davis 
over  to  keep  the  peace.  Tell  me  about 
yourself,  Rupe.  I  hope  Uncle  Ben  does  n't 
think  of  changing  his  young  tutor  with  his 
good  fortune  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  returned  Rupert  brightening ; 
"  he  promises  to  take  me  to  Sacramento  with 
him  as  his  private  secretary  or  confidential 
clerk,  you  know,  ef  —  ef  '  —  he  hesitated 
again  with  very  un-Rupert-like  caution,  "  ef 
things  go  as  he  wants  'em."  He  stopped 
awkwardly  and  his  brown  eyes  became 
clouded.  "  Like  ez  not,  Mr.  Ford,  he  's 
only  foolin'  me  —  and  —  himself."  The 
boy's  eyes  sought  the  master's  curiously. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  returned  Mr. 
Ford  uneasily,  with  a  certain  recollection  of 
Uncle  Ben's  triumph  over  his  own  incredu- 
lity ;  "  he  surely  has  n't  shown  himself  a  fool 
or  a  boaster  so  far-  I  consider  your  pros- 
pect a  very  fair  one,  and  I  wish  you  joy  of 
it,  my  boy."  He  ran  his  fingers  through 
Rupert's  curls  in  his  old  caressing  fashion, 


212  CRESS  Y. 

the  more  tenderly  perhaps  that  he  fancied 
he  still  saw  symptoms  of  stormy  and  wet 
weather  in  the  boy's  brown  eyes.  "  Run 
along  home,  both  of  you,  and  don't  worry 
yourselves  about  me." 

He  turned  away,  but  had  scarcely  pro- 
ceeded half  a  dozen  yards  before  he  felt  a 
tug  at  his  coat.  Looking  down  he  saw  the 
diminutive  Johnny.  "They  '11  be  comin' 
home  thith  way,"  he  said,  reaching  up  in  a 
hoarse  confidential  whisper. 

"Who?" 

"  Crethy  and  'im." 

But  before  the  master  could  make  any 
response  to  this  presumably  gratifying  in- 
formation, Johnny  had  rejoined  his  brother. 
The  two  boys  waved  their  hands  towards 
him  with  the  same  diffident  and  mysterious 
sympathy  that  left  him  hesitating  between  a 
smile  and  a  frown.  Then  he  proceeded  on 
his  way.  Nevertheless,  for  no  other  reason 
than  that  he  felt  a  sudden  distaste  to  meet- 
ing any  one,  when  he  reached  the  point 
where  the  trail  descended  directly  to  the 
settlement,  he  turned  into  a  longer  and 
more  solitary  detour  by  the  woods. 

The  sun  was  already  so  low  that  its  long 
rays  pierced  the  forest  from  beneath,  and 


CRE8ST.  213 

suffused  the  dim  colonnade  of  straight  pine 
shafts  with  a  golden  haze,  while  it  left  the 
dense  intercrossed  branches  fifty  feet  above 
in  deeper  shadow.  Walking  in  this  yellow 
twilight,  with  his  feet  noiselessly  treading 
down  the  yielding  carpet  of  pine  needles,  it 
seemed  to  the  master  that  he  was  passing 
through  the  woods  in  a  dream.  There  was 
no  sound  but  the  dull  intermittent  double 
knock  of  the  wood -pecker,  or  the  drowsy 
croak  of  some  early  roosting  bird ;  all  sug- 
gestion of  the  settlement,  with  all  traces  of 
human  contiguity,  were  left  far  behind.  It 
was  therefore  with  a  strange  and  nervous 
sense  of  being  softly  hailed  by  some  wood- 
land sprite  that  he  seemed  to  hear  his  own 
name  faintly  wafted  upon  the  air.  He 
turned  quickly ;  it  was  Cressy,  panting  be- 
hind him !  Even  then,  in  her  white  closely 
gathered  skirts,  her  bared  head  and  graceful 
arching  neck  bent  forward,  her  flying  braids 
freed  from  the  straw  hat  which  she  had 
swung  from  her  arm  so  as  not  to  impede  her 
flight,  there  was  so  much  of  the  following 
Maenad  about  her  that  he  was  for  an  instant 
startled. 

He   stopped;   she   bounded   to  him,  and 
throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck  with  a 


214  CSJS88Y. 

light  laugh,  let  herself  hang  for  a  moment 
breathless  on  his  breast.  Then  recovering 
her  speech  she  said  slowly :  — 

"  I  started  on  an  Injin  trot  after  you,  just 
as  you  turned  off  the  trail,  but  you  'd  got 
so  far  ahead  while  I  was  shaking  myself 
clear  of  Uncle  Ben  that  I  had  to  jist  lope 
the  whole  way  through  the  woods  to  catch 
up."  She  stopped,  and  looking  up  into  his 
troubled  face  caught  his  cheeks  between  her 
hands,  and  bringing  his  knit  brows  down 
to  the  level  of  her  humid  blue  eyes  said, 
"  You  have  n't  kissed  me  yet.  What 's  the 
matter  ?  " 

"  Does  n't  it  strike  you  that  /  might  ask 
that  question,  considering  that  it  's  three 
days  since  I  've  seen  you,  and  that  you  left 
me,  in  a  rather  awkward  position,  to  explain 
matters  to  your  mother  ?  "  he  said  coldly. 
He  had  formulated  the  sentence  in  his  mind 
some  moments  before,  but  now  that  it  was 
uttered,  it  appeared  singularly  weak  and 
impotent. 

44  That  's  so,"  she  said  with  a  frank  laugh, 
burying  her  face  in  his  waistcoat.  "  You 
see, dandy  boy  "  —  his  pet  name  —  "I  reck- 
oned for  that  reason  we  'd  better  lie  low  for 
a  day  or  two.  Well,"  she  continued,  unty- 


CRESS F.  215 

ing  Iris  cravat  and  retying  it  again,  "  how 
dm  you  crawl  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  your  mother  did 
not  tell  you  ?  "  he  asked  indignantly. 

"Why  should  she?"  returned  Cressy 
lazily.  "  She  never  talks  to  me  of  these 
things,  honey." 

"  And  you  knew  nothing  about  it  ?  " 

Cressy  shook  her  head,  and  then  winding 
one  of  her  long  braids  around  the  young 
man's  neck,  offered  the  end  of  it  to  his 
mouth,  and  on  his  sternly  declining  it,  took 
it  in  her  own. 

Yet  even  her  ignorance  of  what  had  really 
happened  did  not  account  to  the  master  for 
the  indifference  of  her  long  silence,  and 
albeit  conscious  of  some  inefficiency  in  his 
present  unheroic  attitude,  he  continued  sar- 
casticaJly,  "  May  I  ask  what  you  imagined 
would  happen  when  you  left  me  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Cressy  confidently,  "  I  reck- 
oned, chile,  you  could  lie  as  well  as  the 
next  man,  and  that,  being  gifted,  you  7d  sling 
Maw  something  new  and  purty.  Why,  / 
ain't  got  no  fancy,  but  I  fixed  up  something 
against  Paw's  questioning  me.  I  made  that 
conceited  Masters  promise  to  swear  that  he 
was  in  the  barn  with  me.  Then  I  calculated 


216  CRESS  T. 

to  tell  Paw  that  you  came  meandering  along 
lust  before  Maw  popped  in,  and  that  I  ske- 
daddled to  join  Masters.  Of  course,"  she 
added  quickly,  tightening  her  hold  of  the 
master  as  he  made  a  sudden  attempt  at  with- 
drawal, "  I  did  n't  let  on  to  Masters  why  I 
wanted  him  to  promise,  or  that  you  were 
there." 

"  Cressy,"  said  Ford,  irritated  beyond  meas- 
ure, "  are  you  mad,  or  do  you  think  I  am  ?  " 

The  girl's  face  changed.  She  cast  a  half 
frightened,  half  questioning  glance  at  his 
eyes  and  then  around  the  darkening  aisle. 
"  If  we  're  going  to  quarrel,  Jack,"  she  said 
hurriedly,  "  don't  let 's  do  it  lef ore  folks." 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,"  he  said,  follow- 
ing her  eyes  indignantly,  "  what  do  you 
mean?" 

"  I  mean,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  shiver  of 
resignation  and  scorn,  "  if  you  —  oh  dear  !  if 
it 's  all  going  to  be  like  them,  let 's  keep  it 
to  ourselves." 

He  gazed  at  her  in  hopeless  bewilderment. 
Did  she  really  mean  that  she  was  more 
frightened  at  the  possible  revelation  of  their 
disagreement  than  of  their  intimacy  ? 

"  Come,"  she  continued  tenderly,  still  glan- 
cing, however,  uneasily  around  her,  "  come ! 


CRESS Y.  217 

We  '11  be  more  comfortable  in  the  hollow. 
It 's  only  a  step."  Still  holding  him  by  her 
braid  she  half  led,  half  dragged  him  away. 
To  the  right  was  one  of  those  sudden  depres- 
sions in  the  ground  caused  by  the  subsidence 
of  the  earth  from  hidden  springs  and  the  up- 
rooting of  one  or  two  of  the  larger  trees. 
When  she  had  forced  him  down  this  decliv- 
ity below  the  level  of  the  needle-strewn  for- 
est floor,  she  seated  him  upon  a  mossy  root, 
and  shaking  out  her  skirts  in  a  half  childlike, 
half  coquettish  way,  comfortably  seated  her- 
self in  his  lap,  with  her  arm  supplementing 
the  clinging  braid  around  his  neck. 

"Now  hark  to  me,  and  don't  holler  so 
loud,"  she  said  turning  his  face  to  her  ques- 
tioning eyes.  "  What 's  gone  of  you  any- 
way, nigger  boy  ?  "  It  should  be  premised 
that  Cressy's  terms  of  endearment  were 
mainly  negro-dialectical,  reminiscences  of 
her  brief  babyhood,  her  slave-nurse,  and  the 
only  playmates  she  had  ever  known. 

Still  implacable,  the  master  coldly  re- 
peated the  counts  of  his  indictment  against 
the  girl's  strange  indifference  and  still  stran- 
ger entanglements,  winding  up  by  setting 
forth  the  whole  story  of  his  interview  with 
her  mother,  his  forced  defence  of  the  barn, 


218  CRE88Y. 

Seth'a  outspoken  accusation,  and  their  silent 
and  furious  struggle  in  the  loft.  But  if  he 
had  expected  that  this  daughter  of  a  South- 
western fighter  would  betray  any  enthusiasm 
over  her  lover's  participation  in  one  of  their 
characteristic  feuds  —  if  he  looked  for  any 
fond  praise  for  his  own  prowess,  he  was  bit- 
terly mistaken.  She  loosened  her  arm  from 
his  neck  of  her  own  accord,  unwound  the 
braid,  and  putting  her  two  little  hands 
clasped  between  her  knees,  crossed  her  small 
feet  before  her,  and,  albeit  still  in  his  lap, 
looked  the  picture  of  languid  dejection. 

"  Maw  ought  to  have  more  sense,  and  you 
ought  to  have  lit  out  of  the  window  after 
me,"  she  said  with  a  lazy  sigh.  "  Fightin' 
ain't  in  your  line  —  it 's  too  much  like  them. 
That  Seth  's  sure  to  get  even  with  you." 

"  I  can  protect  myself,"  he  said  haughtily. 
Nevertheless  he  had  a  depressing  conscious- 
ness that  his  lithe  and  graceful  burden  was 
somewhat  in  the  way  of  any  heroic  expres- 
sion. 

"  Seth  can  lick  you  out  of  your  boots, 
chile,"  she  said  with  naive  abstraction. 
Then,  as  he  struggled  to  secure  an  upright 
position,  "  Don't  git  riled,  honey.  Of  course 
you  'd  let  them  kill  you  before  you  'd  give 


CRESSY.  219 

in.  But  that 's  their  best  holt  —  that 's  their 
trade  !  That 's  all  they  can  do  —  don't  you 
see  ?  That 's  where  you  're  not  like  them  — 
that 's  why  you  're  not  their  low  down  kind  ! 
That 's  why  you  're  my  boy  —  that 's  why 
I  love  you  !  " 

She  had  thrown  her  whole  weight  again 
upon  his  shoulders  until  she  had  forced  him 
back  to  his  seat.  Then,  with  her  locked 
hands  again  around  his  neck,  she  looked  in- 
tently into  his  face.  The  varying  color 
dropped  from  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  seemed  to 
grow  larger,  the  same  look  of  rapt  absorp- 
tion and  possession  that  had  so  transfigured 
her  young  face  at  the  ball  was  fixed  upon  it 
now.  Her  lips  parted  slightly,  she  seemed 
to  murmur  rather  than  speak  :  — 

"  What  are  these  people  to  us  ?  What 
are  Seth's  jealousies,  Uncle  Ben's  and  Mas- 
ters's  foolishness,  Paw  and  Maw's  quarr'ls 
and  tantrums  to  you  and  me,  dear  ?  What 
is  it  what  they  think,  what  they  reckon, 
what  they  plan  out,  and  what  they  set  them- 
selves against  —  to  us?  We  love  each 
other,  we  belong  to  each  other,  without  their 
help  or  their  hindrance.  From  the  time  we 
first  saw  each  other  it  was  so,  and  from  that 
time  Paw  and  Maw,  and  Seth  and  Masters, 


220  CRESS  Y. 

and  even  you  and  me,  dear,  had  nothing 
else  to  do.  That  was  love  as  I  know  it ;  not 
Seth's  sneaking  rages,  and  Uncle  Ben's 
sneaking  fooleries,  and  Masters's  sneaking 
conceit,  but  only  love.  And  knowing  that, 
I  let  Seth  rage,  and  Uncle  Ben  dawdle,  and 
Masters  trifle  —  and  for  what  ?  To  keep 
them  from  me  and  my  boy.  They  were 
satisfied,  and  we  were  happy." 

Vague  and  unreasoning  as  he  knew  her 
speech  to  be,  the  rapt  and  perfect  conviction 
with  which  it  was  uttered  staggered  him. 

"  But  how  is  this  to  end,  Cressy  ?  "  he 
said  passionately. 

The  abstracted  look  passed,  and  the  slight 
color  and  delicate  mobility  of  her  face  re- 
turned. "  To  end,  dandy  boy  ? "  she  re- 
peated lazily.  "  You  did  n't  think  of  marry- 
ing me  —  did  you  ?  " 

He  blushed,  stammered,  and  said  "  Yes," 
plbeit  with  all  his  past  vacillation  and  his 
present  distrust  of  her,  transparent  on  his 
cheek  and  audible  in  his  voice. 

"No,  dear,"  she  said  quietly,  reaching 
down,  untying  her  little  shoe  and  shaking 
the  dust  and  pine  needles  from  its  recesses, 
"  no !  I  don't  know  enough  to  be  a  wife  to 
you,  just  now,  and  you  know  it.  And  I 


CRESS  T.  221 

could  n't  keep  a  house  fit  for  you,  and  you 
could  n't  afford  to  keep  me  without  it.  And 
then  it  would  be  all  known,  and  it  would  n't 
be  us  two,  dear,  and  our  lonely  meetings  any 
more.  And  we  could  n't  be  engaged  —  that 
would  be  too  much  like  me  and  Seth  over 
again.  That 's  what  you  mean,  dandy  boy 
—  for  you  're  only  a  dandy  boy,  you  know, 
and  they  don't  get  married  to  back  wood 
Southern  girls  who  have  n't  a  nigger  to  bless 
themselves  with  since  the  war!  No,"  she 
continued,  lifting  her  proud  little  head  so 
promptly  after  Ford  had  recovered  from  his 
surprise  as  to  make  the  ruse  of  emptying  her 
shoe  perfectly  palpable,  "no,  that's  what 
we  've  both  allowed,  dear,  all  along.  And 
now,  honey,  it 's  near  time  for  me  to  go. 
Tell  me  something  good  —  before  I  go.  Tell 
me  that  you  love  me  as  you  used  to  —  tell 
me  how  you  felt  that  night  at  the  ball  when 
you  first  knew  we  loved  each  other.  But 
stop  —  kiss  me  first  —  there,  once  more  — 
for  keeps." 


CHAPTER  XL 

WHEN  Uncle  Ben,  or  "Benjamin  Dau- 
bigny,  Esq.,"  as  he  was  already  known  in 
the  columns  of  the  "  Star,"  accompanied 
Miss  Cressy  McKinstry  on  her  way  home 
after  the  first  display  of  attention  and  hos- 
pitality since  his  accession  to  wealth  and  po* 
sition,  he  remained  for  some  moments  in  a 
state  of  bewildered  and  smiling  idiocy.  It 
was  true  that  their  meeting  was  chance  and 
accidental ;  it  was  true  that  Cressy  had  ac- 
cepted his  attention  with  lazy  amusement; 
it  was  true  that  she  had  suddenly  and  au- 
daciously left  him  on  the  borders  of  the 
McKinstry  woods  in  a  way  that  might  have 
seemed  rude  and  abrupt  to  any  escort  less 
invincibly  good  -  humored  than  Uncle  Ben, 
but  none  of  these  things  marred  his  fatuous 
felicity.  It  is  even  probable  that  in  his 
gratuitous  belief  that  his  timid  attentions 
had  been  too  marked  and  impulsive,  he  at- 
tributed Cressy's  flight  to  a  maidenly  coy- 
ness that  pleasurably  increased  his  admira- 


CRES8Y.  223 

tion  for  her  and  his  confidence  in  himself. 
In  his  abstraction  of  enjoyment  and  in  the 
gathering  darkness  he  ran  against  a  fir-tree 
very  much  as  he  had  done  while  walking 
with  her,  and  he  confusedly  apologized  to  it 
as  he  had  to  her,  and  by  her  own  appella- 
tion. In  this  way  he  eventually  overran 
his  trail  and  found  himself  unexpectedly 
and  apologetically  in  the  clearing  before  the 
school-house. 

"  Ef  this  ain't  the  singlerest  thing,  miss," 
he  said,  and  then  stopped  suddenly.  A 
faint  noise  in  the  school-house  like  the  sound 
of  splintered  wood  attracted  his  attention. 
The  master  was  evidently  there.  If  he  was 
alone  he  would  speak  to  him. 

He  went  to  the  window,  looked  in,  and  in 
an  instant  his  amiable  abstraction  left  him. 
He  crept  softly  to  the  door,  tried  it,  and  then 
putting  his  powerful  shoulder  against  the 
panel,  forced  the  lock  from  its  fastenings. 
He  entered  the  room  as  Seth  Davis,  fright- 
ened but  furious,  lifted  himself  from  before 
the  master's  desk  which  he  had  just  broken 
open.  He  had  barely  time  to  conceal  some- 
thing in  his  pocket  and  close  the  lid  again 
before  Uncle  Ben  approached  him. 

"  What   mouut  ye   be   doin'   here,  Seth 


224  CRESS  T. 

Davis?"  he  asked  with  the  slow  delibera- 
tion which  in  that  locality  meant  mischief. 

**  And  what  mouut  you  be  doin'  here,  Mis- 
ter Ben  Dabney?  "  said  Seth,  resuming  his 
effrontery. 

"Well,"  returned  Uncle  Ben,  planting 
himself  in  the  aisle  before  his  opponent, 
"  I  ain't  doin'  no  sheriff's  posse  business  jest 
now,  but  I  reckon  to  keep  my  hand  in  far 
enuff  to  purtect  other  folks'  property,"  he 
added,  with  a  significant  glance  at  the  broken 
lock  of  the  desk. 

"  Ben  Dabney,"  said  Seth  in  snarling  ex- 
postulation, "  I  hain't  got  no  quar'll  with 
ye!" 

"  Then  hand  me  over  whatever  you  took 
just  now  from  teacher's  desk  and  we  '11  talk 
about  that  afterwards,"  said  Uncle  Ben  ad- 
vancing. 

"  I  tell  ye  I  hain't  got  no  quar'll  with  ye, 
Uncle  Ben,"  continued  Seth,  retreating  with 
a  malignant  sneer  ;  "  and  when  you  talk  of 
protectin'  other  folks'  property,  mebbe  ye  'd 
better  protect  your  own  —  or  what  ye  'd  like 
to  call  so  —  instead  of  quar'llin'  with  the 
man  that's  helpin'  ye.  I've  got  yer  the 
proofs  that  that  sneakin'  hound  of  a  Yankee 
school-master  that  Cress  McKinstry's  hell 


CRESS  7.  225 

bent  on,  and  that  the  old  man  and  old 
woman  are  just  chuckin'  into  her  arms,  is  a 
lyin',  black-hearted,  hypocritical  seducer  " — 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Uncle  Ben  in  a  voice  that 
made  the  crazy  casement  rattle. 

He  strode  towards  Seth  Davis,  no  longer 
with  his  habitual  careful,  hesitating  step, 
but  with  a  tread  that  seemed  to  shake  the 
whole  school -room.  A  single  dominant 
clutch  of  his  powerful  right  hand  on  the 
young  man's  breast  forced  him  backwards 
into  the  vacant  chair  of  the  master.  His 
usually  florid  face  had  grown  as  gray  as  the 
twilight;  his  menacing  form  in  a  moment 
filled  the  litt1^  room  and  darkened  the  win- 
dows. Then  in  some  inexplicable  reaction 
his  figure  slightly  drooped,  he  laid  one  heavy 
hand  tremblingly  on  the  desk,  and  with  the 
other  affected  to  wipe  his  mouth  after  his 
old  embarrassed  fashion. 

"  What 's  that  you  were  sayin'  o'  Cressy  ?  " 
he  said  huskily. 

"  Wot  everybody  says,"  said  the  fright- 
ened Seth,  gaining  a  cowardly  confidence  un- 
der his  adversary's  emotion.  "Wot  every 
cub  that  sets  yer  under  his  cantin'  teachin', 
and  sees  'em  together,  knows.  It 's  wot 

you  'd  hev  knowed  ef  he  and  Roop  Filgep 
v.  24  H— Bret  Harte 


226  CRE88T. 

hadn't  played  ye  fer  a  softy  all  the  time. 
And  while  you  Ve  bin  hangin'  round  yer 
fer  a  flicker  of  Cressy's  gownd  as  she  prances 
out  o'  school,  he 's  bin  lyin'  low  and  laffin'  at 
ye,  and  while  he  's  turned  Roop  over  to  keep 
you  here,  pretendin'  to  give  ye  lessons,  he  's 
bin  gallivantin'  round  with  her  and  huggin' 
and  kissin'  her  in  barns  and  in  the  brush  — 
and  now  you  want  to  quar'll  with  me." 

He  stopped,  panting  for  breath,  and  stared 
malignantly  in  the  gray  face  of  his  hearer. 
But  Uncle  Ben  only  lifted  his  heavy  hand 
mildly  with  an  awkward  gesture  of  warning, 
stepped  softly  in  his  old  cautious  hesitating 
manner  to  the  open  door,  closed  it,  and  re- 
turned gently :  — 

"  I  reckon  ye  got  in  through  the  winder, 
did  n't  ye,  Seth  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  labored 
affectation  of  unemotional  ease,  "  a  kind  o' 
one  leg  over,  and  one,  two,  and  then  you  're 
in,  eh  ?  " 

"  Never  you  mind  how  I  got  in,  Ben  Dab- 
ney,"  returned  Seth,  his  hostility  and  inso- 
lence increasing  with  his  opponent's  evident 
weakness,  "  ez  long  ez  I  got  yer  and  got,  by 
G  —  d  !  what  I  kem  here  fer  !  For  whiles 
all  this  was  goin'  on,  and  whiles  the  old  fool 
man  and  old  fool  woman  was  swallowin' 


CRESS T.  227 

what  they  did  see  and  blinkin'  at  what  they 
did  n't,  and  huggin'  themselves  that  they  'd 
got  high-toned  kempany  fer  their  darter, 
that  high-toned  kempany  was  playin'  them 
too,  by  G  —  d !  Yes,  sir !  that  high-toned, 
cantin'  school-teacher  was  keepin'  a  married 
woman  in  'Frisco,  all  the  while  he  was  here 
honey-foglin'  with  Cressy,  and  I  Ve  got  the 
papers  yer  to  prove  it."  He  tapped  his 
breast-pocket  with  a  coarse  laugh  and  thrust 
his  face  forward  into  the  gray  shadow  of  his 
adversary's. 

"  An'  you  sorter  spotted  their  bein'  in  this 
yer  desk  and  bursted  it  ?  "  said  Uncle  Ben, 
gravely  examining  the  broken  lock  in  the 
darkness  as  if  it  were  the  most  important 
feature  of  the  incident. 

Seth  nodded.  "  You  bet  your  life.  I  saw 
him  through  the  winder  only  this  afternoon 
lookin  over  'em  alone,  and  I  reckoned  to  lay 
my  hands  on  'em  if  I  had  to  bust  him  or  his 
desk.  And  I  did  !  "  he  added  with  a  trium- 
phant chuckle. 

"  And  you  did  —  sure  pop  !  "  said  Uncle 
Ben  with  slow  deliberate  admiration,  passing 
his  heavy  hand  along  the  splintered  lid. 
"And  you  reckon,  Seth,  that  this  yer 
showin'  of  him  up  will  break  off  enythin'  be- 


228  CRESS  T. 

twixt  him  and  this  yer  —  this  yer  Miss  — 
Miss  McKinstry?"  he  continued  with  la- 
bored formality. 

"  I  reckon  ef  the  old  fool  McKinstry  don't 
shoot  him  in  his  tracks  thar  '11  be  white  men 
enough  in  Injin  Springs  to  ride  this  high- 
toned,  pizenous  hypocrit  on  a  rail  outer  the 
settlement ! " 

"  That 's  so !  "  said  Uncle  Ben  musingly, 
after  a  thoughtful  pause,  in  which  he  still 
seemed  to  be  more  occupied  with  the  broken 
desk  than  his  companion's  remark.  Then 
he  went  on  cautiously :  "  And  ez  this  thing 
orter  be  worked  mighty  fine,  Seth,  pYaps, 
on  the  hull,  you  'd  better  let  me  have  them 
papers." 

"What!  You?"  snarled  Seth,  drawing 
back  with  a  glance  of  angry  suspicion ;  "  not 
if  I  know  it !  " 

"  Seth,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  resting  his  elbows 
on  the  desk  confidentially,  and  speaking  with 
painful  and  heavy  deliberation,  "  when  you 
first  interdoosed  this  yer  subject  you  elluded 
to  my  hevin',  so  to  speak,  rights  o'  preemp- 
tion and  interference  with  this  young  lady, 
and  that  in  your  opinion,  I  was  n't  purtectin' 
them  rights.  It  'pears  to  me  that,  allowin' 
that  to  be  gospel  truth,  them  ther  papers 


CR£8SY.  229 

orter  be  in  my  possession  —  you  hevin'  so 
to  speak  no  rights  to  purtect,  bein*  off  the 
board  with  this  yer  young  lady,  and  bein' 
moved  gin'rally  by  free  and  independent 
cussedness.  And  ez  I  sed  afore,  this  sort  o' 
thing  havin'  to  be  worked  mighty  fine,  and 
them  papers  manniperlated  with  judgment, 
I  reckon,  Seth,  if  you  don't  objeck,  I  '11  hev 
—  hev  —  to  trouble  you." 

Seth  started  to  his  feet  with  a  rapid  glance 
at  the  door,  but  Uncle  Ben  had  risen  again 
with  the  same  alarming  expression  of  com- 
pletely filling  the  darkened  school-room,  and 
of  shaking  the  floor  beneath  him  at  the 
slightest  movement.  Already  he  fancied  he 
saw  Uncle  Ben's  powerful  arm  hovering 
above  him  ready  to  descend.  It  suddenly 
occurred  to  him  that  if  he  left  the  execution 
of  his  scheme  of  exposure  and  vengeance  to 
Uncle  Ben,  the  onus  of  stealing  the  letters 
would  fall  equally  upon  their  possessor. 
This  advantage  seemed  more  probable  than 
the  danger  of  Uncle  Ben's  weakly  yielding 
them  up  to  the  master.  In  the  latter  case 
he,  Seth,  could  still  circulate  the  report  of 
having  seen  the  letters  which  Uncle  Ben  had 
himself  stolen  in  a  fit  of  jealousy  —  a  hy- 
pothesis the  more  readily  accepted  from  the 


230  CRESS  Y. 

latter's  familiar  knowledge  of  the  school- 
house  and  his  presumed  ambitious  jealousy 
of  Cressy  in  his  present  attitude  as  a  man  of 
position.  With  affected  reluctance  and  hes- 
itation he  put  his  hand  to  his  breast-pocket. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  if  you  're  kalki- 
latin'  to  take  up  the  quar'll  on  your  rights, 
and  ez  Cressy  ain't  anythin'  more  to  me,  you 
orter  hev  the  proofs.  Only  don't  trust  them 
into  that  hound's  hands.  Once  he  gets  'em 
again  he  '11  secure  a  warrant  agin  you  for 
stealin'.  That  '11  be  his  game.  I  "d  show 
'em  to  her  first  —  don't  ye  see?  —  and  I 
reckon  ef  she  's  old  Ma'am  McKinstry's  dar- 
ter, she  '11  make  it  lively  for  him." 

He  handed  the  letters  to  the  looming  fig- 
ure before  him.  It  seemed  to  become  again 
a  yielding  mortal,  and  said  in  a  hesitating 
voice,  "  P'r'aps  you  'd  better  make  tracks 
outer  this,  Seth,  and  leave  me  yer  to  put 
things  to  rights  and  fix  up  that  door  and  the 
desk  agin  to-morrow  mornin'.  He  'd  better 
not  know  it  to  onct,  and  so  start  a  row  about 
bein'  broken  into." 

The  proposition  seemed  to  please  Seth ; 
he  even  extended  his  hand  in  the  darkness. 
But  he  met  only  an  irresponsive  void.  With 
a  slight  shrug  of  his  shoulders  and  a  grunt- 


CRESS Y.  231 

ing  farewell,  he  felt  his  way  to  the  door  and 
disappeared.  For  a  few  moments  it  seemed 
as  if  Uncle  Ben  had  also  deserted  the  school- 
house,  so  profound  and  quiet  was  the  hush 
that  fell  upon  it.  But  as  the  eye  became  ac- 
customed to  the  shadow  a  grayish  bulk  ap- 
peared to  grow  out  of  it  over  the  master's 
desk  and  shaped  itself  into  the  broad  figure 
of  Uncle  Ben.  Later,  when  the  moon  rose 
and  looked  in  at  the  window,  it  saw  him  as 
the  master  had  seen  him  on  the  first  day  he 
had  begun  his  lessons  in  the  school-house, 
with  his  face  bent  forward  over  the  desk  and 
the  same  look  of  child-like  perplexity  and 
struggle  that  he  had  worn  at  his  allotted 
task.  Unheroic,  ridiculous,  and  no  doubt 
blundering  and  idiotic  as  then,  but  still 
vaguely  persistent  in  his  thought,  he  re- 
mained for  some  moments  in  this  attitude. 
Then  rising  and  taking  advantage  of  the 
moonlight  that  flooded  the  desk,  he  set  him- 
self to  mend  the  broken  lock  with  a  large 
mechanical  clasp-knife  he  produced  from  his 
pocket,  and  the  aid  of  his  workmanlike 
thumb  and  finger.  Presently  he  began  to 
whistle  softly,  at  first  a  little  artificially  and 
with  relapses  of  reflective  silence.  The  lock 
of  the  desk  restored,  he  secured  into  position 


282  CRESB7. 

again  that  part  of  the  door-lock  which  he  had 
burst  off  in  his  entrance.  This  done,  he 
closed  the  door  gently  and  once  more  stepped 
out  into  the  moonlit  clearing.  In  replacing 
his  knife  in  his  pocket  he  took  out  the  letters 
which  he  had  not  touched  since  they  were 
handed  to  him  in  the  darkness.  His  first 
glance  at  the  handwriting  caused  him  to 
stop.  Then  still  staring  at  it,  he  began  to 
move  slowly  and  automatically  backwards 
to  the  porch.  When  he  reached  it  he  sat 
down,  unfolded  the  letter,  and  without  at- 
tempting to  read  it,  turned  its  pages  over  and 
over  with  the  unfamiliarity  of  an  illiterate 
man  in  search  of  the  signature.  This  when 
found  apparently  plunged  him  again  into  mo- 
tionless abstraction.  Only  once  he  changed 
his  position  to  pull  up  the  legs  of  his  trous- 
ers, open  his  knees,  and  extend  the  distance 
between  his  feet,  and  then  with  the  unfolded 
pages  carefully  laid  in  the  moonlit  space 
thus  opened  before  him,  regarded  them  with 
dubious  speculation.  At  the  end  of  ten  min- 
utes he  rose  with  a  sigh  of  physical  and 
mental  relaxation,  refolded  the  letter,  put  it 
in  his  pocket,  and  made  his  way  to  the  town. 
When  he  reached  the  hotel  he  turned  into 
the  bar-room,  and  observing  that  it  happened 


CRESS  Y.  233 

to  be  comparatively  deserted,  asked  for  a 
glass  of  whiskey.  In  response  to  the  bar- 
keeper's glance  of  curiosity  —  as  Uncle  Ben 
seldom  drank,  and  then  only  as  a  social 
function  with  others  —  he  explained  :  — 

"I  reckon  straight  whiskey  is  about  ez 
good  ez  the  next  thing  for  blind  chills." 

The  bar-keeper  here  interposed  that  in  his 
larger  medical  experience  he  had  found  t'he 
exhibition  of  ginger  in  combination  with  gin 
attended  with  effect,  although  it  was  evident 
that  in  his  business  capacity  he  regarded 
Uncle  Ben,  as  a  drinker,  with  distrust. 

"  Ye  ain't  seen  Mr.  Ford  hanging  round 
yer  lately  ?  "  continued  Uncle  Ben  with  la- 
borious ease. 

The  bar-keeper,  with  his  eye  still  scorn- 
fully fixed  on  his  customer,  but  his  hands 
which  were  engaged  in  washing  his  glasses 
under  the  counter  giving  him  the  air  of  hu- 
morously communicating  with  a  hidden  con- 
federate, had  not  seen  the  school-master  that 
afternoon. 

Uncle  Ben  turned  away  and  slowly 
mounted  the  staircase  to  the  master's  room. 
After  a  moment's  pause  on  the  landing, 
which  must  have  been  painfully  obvious  to 
any  one  who  heard  his  heavy  ascent,  he  gave 


234  CRE8SY. 

two  timid  raps  on  the  door  which  were 
equally  ridiculous  in  contrast  with  his  pow- 
erful tread.  The  door  was  opened  promptly 
by  the  master. 

"  Oh,  it 's  you,  is  it  ?  "  he  said  shortly. 
"  Come  in." 

Uncle  Ben  entered  without  noticing  the 
somewhat  ungracious  form  of  invitation. 
"  It  war  me,"  he  said,  "  dropped  in,  not 
finding  ye  downstairs.  Let 's  have  a  drink." 

The  master  gazed  at  Uncle  Ben,  who, 
owing  to  his  abstraction,  had  not  yet  wiped 
his  mouth  of  the  liquor  he  had  imperfectly 
swallowed,  and  was  in  consequence  more 
redolent  of  whiskey  than  a  confirmed  toper. 
He  rang  the  bell  for  the  desired  refreshment 
with  a  slightly  cynical  smile.  He  was  sat- 
isfied that  his  visitor,  like  many  others  of 
humble  position,  was  succumbing  to  his  good 
fortune. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  ye,  Mr.  Ford,"  he  be- 
gan, taking  an  unproffered  chair  and  depos- 
iting his  hat  after  some  hesitation  outside 
the  door,  "  in  regard  to  what  I  onct  told  ye 
about  my  wife  in  Mizzouri.  P'r'aps  you 
disremember  ?  ' 

"  I  remember, '  returned  the  master  re- 
signedly. 


CRESSY.  235 

"You  know  it  was  that  arternoon  that 
fool  Stacey  sent  the  sheriff  and  the  Harri- 
sons over  to  McKinstry's  barn." 

"  Go  on  !  "  petulantly  said  the  master,  who 
had  his  own  reasons  for  not  caring  to  re- 
call it. 

"  It  was  that  arternoon,  you  know,  that 
you  had  n't  time  to  hark  to  me  —  hevin'  to 
go  off  on  an  engagement,"  continued  Uncle 
Ben  with  protracted  deliberation,  "  and  "  — 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  remember,"  interrupted  the 
master  exasperatedly,  "  and  really  unless  you 
get  on  faster,  I  '11  have  to  leave  you  again." 

"  It  was  that  arternoon,"  said  Uncle  Ben 
without  heeding  him,  "  when  I  told  you  I 
hadn't  any  idea  what  had  become  o'  my 
wife  ez  I  left  in  Mizzouri." 

"Yes,"  said  the  master  sharply,  "and  1 
told  you  it  was  your  bounden  duty  to  look 
for  her." 

"  That 's  so,"  said  Uncle  Ben  nodding 
comfortably,  "  them ' s  your  very  words  ;  on'y 
a  leetle  more  strong  than  that,  ef  I  don't 
disremember.  Well,  I  reckon  I  Ve  got  an 
idee !  "  The  master  assumed  a  sudden  ex- 
pression of  interest,  but  Uncle  Ben  did  not 
vary  his  monotonous  tone. 

u  I  kem  across  that  idee,  so  to  speak,  on 


236  CRESS  r, 

the  trail.  I  kem  across  it  in  some  letters  ez 
was  lying  wide  open  in  the  brush.  I  picked 
'em  up  and  I  Ve  got  'em  here." 

He  slowly  took  the  letters  from  his  pocket 
with  one  hand,  while  he  dragged  the  chair 
on  which  he  was  sitting  beside  the  master. 
But  with  a  quick  flush  of  indignation  Mr. 
Ford  rose  and  extended  his  hand. 

"  These  are  my  letters,  Dabney,"  he  said 
sternly,  "  stolen  from  my  desk.  Who  has 
dared  to  do  this  ?  " 

But  Untie  Ben  had,  as  if  accidentally,  in- 
terposed his  elbow  between  the  master  and 
Seth's  spoils. 

"  Then  it 's  all  right  ?  "  he  returned  delib- 
erately. "I  brought  'em  here  because  I 
thought  they  might  give  an  idee  where  my 
wife  was.  For  them  letters  is  in  her  own 
handwrite.  You  remember  ez  I  told  ez  how 
she  was  a  scollard." 

The  master  sat  back  in  his  chair  white 
and  dumb.  Incredible,  extraordinary,  and 
utterly  unlocked  for  as  was  this  revelation, 
he  felt  instinctively  that  it  was  true. 

"  I  could  n't  read  it  myself  —  ez  you 
know.  I  did  n't  keer  to  ax  any  one  else  to 
read  it  for  me  —  you  kin  reckon  why,  too. 
And  that 's  why  I  'm  troublin'  you  to-night, 
Mr.  Ford  —  ez  a  friend." 


CRESS  T  237 

The  master  with  a  desperate  effort  re- 
covered his  voice.  "It  is  impossible>  The 
lady  who  wrote  those  letters  does  not  bear 
your  name.  More  than  that,  '  ne  added 
with  hasty  irrelevance,  (t  she  is  so  free  that 
she  is  about  to  be  married,  as  you  might 
have  read.  You  have  made  a  mistake  the 
handwriting  may  be  like,  but  it  cannot  be 
really  your  wife's.  ' 

Uncle  Ben  shook  his  head  slowly.  '-'  It 's 
hern  —  there  s  no  mistake.  When  a  man, 
Mr.  Ford,  hez  studied  that  hand  write  — 
havin",  so  to  speak,  knowed  it  on'y  from  the 
outside  —  from  seein'  it  passin*  like  between 
friends  —  that  man's  chances  o'  bein'  mis- 
took ain't  ez  great  ez  the  man's  who  ony 
takes  in  the  sense  of  the  words  that  might 
b'long  to  everybody.  And  her  name  not 
bein'  the  same  ez  mine,  don't  foller.  Ef 
she  got  a  divorce  she'd  take  her  old  gal's 
name  —  the  name  of  her  fammerly.  And 
that  would  seem  to  allow  she  did  get  a  di- 
vorce. What  mowt  she  hev  called  herself 
when  she  writ  this  ?  " 

The  master  saw  his  opportunity  and  rose 
to  it  with  a  chivalrous  indignation,  that  for 
the  moment  imposed  even  upon  himself. 
ic  I  decline  to  answer  that  question,"  he  said 


238  CREBST. 

angrily.  "I  refuse  to  allow  the  name  of 
any  woman  who  honors  me  with  her  confi- 
dence to  be  dragged  into  the  infamous  out- 
rage that  has  been  committed  upon  me  and 
common  decency.  And  I  shall  hold  the 
thief  and  scoundrel  —  whoever  he  may  be 
—  answerable  to  myself  in  the  absence  of 
her  natural  protector." 

Uncle  Ben  surveyed  the  hero  of  these 
glittering  generalities  with  undisguised  ad- 
miration. He  extended  his  hand  to  him 
gravely. 

"  Shake  !  Ef  another  proof  was  wanting 
Mr.  Ford,  of  that  bein'  my  wife's  letter,"  he 
said,  "  that  high-toned  style  of  yours  would 
settle  it.  For,  ef  thar  was  one  thing  she  did 
like,  it  was  that  sort  of  po'try.  And  one 
reason  why  her  and  me  did  n't  get  on,  and 
why  I  skedaddled,  was  because  it  was  n't  in 
my  line.  Et  's  all  in  trainin' !  On'y  a  man 
ez  had  the  Fourth  Reader  at  his  fingers' 
ends  could  talk  like  that.  Bein'  brought 
up  on  Dobell  —  ez  is  nowhere  —  it  sorter 
lets  me  outer  you,  ez  it  did  outer  her.  But 
allowin'  it  ain't  the  square  thing  for  you 
to  mention  her  name,  that  would  n't  be 
nothin'  agin'  my  doin'  it,  and  callin'  her, 
well  —  Lou  Price  in  a  keerless  sort  o'  way, 
eh  ?  " 


CRESS  T.  239 

"  I  decline  to  answer  further,"  replied 
the  master  quickly,  although  his  color  had 
changed  at  the  name.  "  I  decline  to  say 
another  word  on  the  matter  until  this  mys- 
tery is  cleared  up  —  until  I  know  who  dared 
to  break  into  my  desk  and  steal  my  prop- 
erty, and  the  purpose  of  this  unheard-of  out- 
rage. And  I  demand  possession  of  those 
letters  at  once*" 

Uncle  Ben  without  a  word  put  them  in 
the  master's  hand,  to  his  slight  surprise, 
and  it  must  be  added  to  his  faint  discomfit- 
ure, nor  was  it  decreased  when  Uncle  Ben 
added,  with  grave  naivete  and  a  patronizing 
pressure  of  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  —  "In 
course  ez  you  're  taken'  it  on  to  yourself,  and 
ez  Lou  Price  ain't  got  no  further  call  on  me, 
they  orter  be  yours.  Ez  to  who  got  ?em 
outer  the  desk,  I  reckon  you  ain't  got  no 
suspicion  of  any  one  spyin'  round  ye  —  hev 

ye?" 

In  an  instant  the  recollection  of  Seth 
Davis' s  face  at  the  window  and  the  corrob- 
oration  of  Rupert's  warning  flashed  across 
Ford's  mind.  The  hypothesis  that  Seth 
had  imagined  that  they  were  Cressy's  let- 
ters, and  had  thrown  them  down  without 
reading  them  when  he  had  found  out  his 


240  CRESS  Y. 

mistake,  seemed  natural.  For  if  he  had 
read  them  he  would  undoubtedly  have  kept 
them  to  show  to  Cressy.  The  complex  emo- 
tions that  had  disturbed  the  master  on  the 
discovery  of  Uncle  Ben's  relationship  to  the 
writer  of  the  letters  were  resolving  them- 
selves into  a  furious  rage  at  Seth.  But  be- 
fore he  dared  revenge  himself  he  must  be 
first  assured  that  Seth  was  ignorant  of  their 
contents.  He  turned  to  Uncle  Ben. 

"I  have  a  suspicion,  but  to  make  it  cer- 
tain I  must  ask  you  for  the  present  to  say 
nothing  of  this  to  any  one." 

Uncle  Ben  nodded.  "  And  when  you  hev 
found  out  and  you  're  settled  in  your  mind 
that  you  kin  make  my  mind  easy  about  this 
yer  Lou  Price,  ez  we  '11  call  her,  bein'  di- 
vorced squarely,  and  bein',  so  to  speak,  in 
the  way  o'  gettin'  married  agin,  ye  might 
let  me  know  —  ez  a  friend.  I  reckon  I 
won't  trouble  you  any  more  to-night  —  on- 
less  you  and  me  takes  another  sociable  drink 
together  in  the  bar.  No?  Well,  then, 
good  -  night."  He  moved  slowly  towards 
the  door.  With  his  hand  on  the  lock  he 
added:  "Ef  yer  writin'  to  her  agin,  you 
might  say  ez  how  you  found  me  lookin'  well 
and  coinf'able,  and  hopin'  she  's  enjyin'  the 
same  blessin'.  'So  long." 


CRESST.  241 

He  disappeared,  leaving  the  master  in  a 
hopeless  collapse  of  conflicting,  and,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  not  very  heroic  emotions.  The  situa- 
tion, which  had  begun  so  dramatically,  had 
become  suddenly  unromantically  ludicrous, 
without,  however,  losing  any  of  its  embar- 
rassing quality.  He  was  conscious  that  he 
occupied  the  singular  position  of  being  more 
ridiculous  than  the  husband  —  whose  invin- 
cible and  complacent  simplicity  stung  him 
like  the  most  exquisite  irony.  For  an  in- 
stant he  was  almost  goaded  into  the  fury  of 
declaring  that  he  had  broken  off  from  the 
writer  of  the  letters  forever,  but  its  incon- 
sistency with  the  chivalrous  attitude  he  had 
just  taken  occurred  to  him  in  time  to  pre- 
vent him  from  becoming  doubly  absurd. 
His  rage  with  Seth  Davis  seemed  to  him  the 
only  feeling  left  that  was  genuine  and  ra- 
tional, and  yet,  now  that  Uncle  Ben  had 
gone,  even  that  had  a  spurious  ring.  It  was 
necessary  for  him  to  lash  himself  into  a  fury 
over  the  hypothesis  that  the  letters  might 
have  been  Cressy's,  and  desecrated  by  that 
scoundrel's  touch.  Perhaps  he  had  read 
them  and  left  them  to  be  picked  up  by 
others.  He  looked  over  them  carefully  to 
see  if  their  meaning  would,  to  the  ordinary 


242  CHESS T. 

reader,  appear  obvious    and  compromising. 
His  eye  fell  on  the  first  paragraph. 

"  I  should  not  be  quite  fair  with  you, 
Jack,  if  I  affected  to  disbelieve  in  your  faith 
in  your  love  for  me  and  its  endurance,  but 
I  should  be  still  more  unfair  if  I  did  n't  tell 
you  what  I  honestly  believe,  that  at  your 
age  you  are  apt  to  deceive  yourself,  and, 
without  knowing  it,  to  deceive  others.  You 
confess  you  have  not  yet  decided  upon  your 
career,  and  you  are  always  looking  forward 
so  hopefully,  dear  Jack,  for  a  change  in  the 
future,  but  you  are  willing  to  believe  that 
far  more  serious  things  than  that  will  suf- 
fer no  change  in  the  mean  time.  If  we  con- 
tinued as  we  were,  I,  who  am  older  than  you 
and  have  more  experience,  might  learn  the 
misery  of  seeing  you  change  towards  me  as 
I  have  changed  towards  another,  and  for 
the  same  reason.  If  I  were  sure  I  could 
keep  pace  with  you  in  your  dreams  and 
your  ambition,  if  I  were  sure  that  I  always 
knew  what  they  were,  we  might  still  be 
happy  —  but  I  am  not  sure,  and  1  dare  not 
again  risk  my  happiness  on  an  uncertainty. 
In  coming  to  my  present  resolution  I  do 
not  look  for  happiness,  but  at  least  I  know 
I  shall  not  suffer  disappointment,  nor  in- 


CRESS T.  243 

volve  others  in  it.  I  confess  I  am  growing 
too  old  not  to  feel  the  value  to  a  woman  — 
a  necessity  to  her  in  this  country  —  of  se- 
curity in  her  present  and  future  position. 
Another  can  give  me  that.  And  although 
you  may  call  this  a  selfish  view  of  our  rela- 
tions, I  believe  that  you  will  soon  —  if  you 
do  not,  even  as  you  read  this  now  —  feel 
the  justice  of  it,  and  thank  me  for  taking 
it." 

With  a  smile  of  scorn  he  tore  up  the  let- 
ter, in  what  he  fondly  believed  was  the  bit- 
terness of  an  outraged  trustful  nature,  for- 
getting that  for  many  weeks  he  had  scarcely 
thought  of  its  writer,  and  that  he  himself 
in  his  conduct  had  already  anticipated  its 
truths. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  master  awoke  the  next  morning, 
albeit  after  a  restless  night,  with  that  clarity 
of  conscience  and  perception  which  it  is  to 
be  feared  is  more  often  the  consequence  of 
youth  and  a  perfect  circulation  than  of  any 
moral  conviction  or  integrity.  He  argued 
with  himself  that  as  the  only  party  really 
aggrieved  in  the  incident  of  the  previous 
night,  the  right  of  remedy  remained  with 
him  solely,  and  under  the  benign  influence 
of  an  early  breakfast  and  the  fresh  morning 
air  he  was  inclined  to  feel  less  sternly  even 
towards  Seth  Davis.  In  any  event,  he  must 
first  carefully  weigh  the  evidence  against 
him,  and  examine  the  scene  of  the  outrage 
closely.  For  this  purpose,  he  had  started 
for  the  school-house  fully  an  hour  before  his 
usual  time.  He  was  even  light-hearted 
enough  to  recognize  the  humorous  aspect  of 
Uncle  Ben's  appeal  to  him,  and  his  own 
ludicrously  paradoxical  attitude,  and  as  he 
at  last  passed  from  the  dreary  flat  into  the 


CUES  ST.  245 

fringe  of  upland  pines,  he  was  smiling. 
Well  for  him,  perhaps,  that  he  was  no  more 
affected  by  any  premonition  of  the  day  be- 
fore him  than  the  lately  awakened  birds  that 
lightly  cut  the  still  sleeping  woods  around 
him  in  their  long  flashing  sabre-curves  of 
flight.  A  yellow-throat,  destined  to  become 
the  breakfast  of  a  lazy  hawk  still  swinging 
above  the  river,  was  especially  moved  to  such 
a  causeless  and  idiotic  roulade  of  mirth  that 
the  master  listening  to  the  foolish  bird  was 
fain  to  whistle  too.  He  presently  stopped, 
however,  with  a  slight  embarrassment.  For 
a  few  paces  before  him  Cressy  had  unex- 
pectedly appeared. 

She  had  evidently  been  watching  for  him. 
But  not  with  her  usual  indolent  confidence. 
There  was  a  strained  look  of  the  muscles  of 
her  mouth,  as  of  some  past  repression,  and 
a  shaded  hollow  under  her  temples  beneath 
the  blonde  rings  of  her  shorter  hair.  Her 
habitually  slow,  steady  eye  was  troubled,  and 
she  cast  a  furtive  glance  around  her  before 
she  searched  him  with  her  glance.  Without 
knowing  why,  yet  vaguely  fearing  that  he 
did,  he  became  still  more  embarrassed,  and 
in  the  very  egotism  of  awkwardness,  stam- 
mered without  a  further  salutation :  "  A  dis- 


246  CRE8SY. 

graceful  thing  has  happened  last  night,  and 
I  'm  up  early  to  find  the  perpetrator.  My 
desk  was  broken  into,  and  "  — 

"  I  know  it,"  she  interrupted,  with  a  half- 
impatient,  half  uneasy  putting  away  of  the 
subject  with  her  little  hand  —  "  there  —  don't 
go  all  over  it  again.  Paw  and  Maw  have 
been  at  me  about  it  all  night  —  ever  since 
those  Harrisons  in  their  anxiousness  to  make 
up  their  quarrel,  rushed  over  with  the  news. 
I  'm  tired  of  it !  " 

For  an  instant  he  was  staggered.  How 
much  had  she  learned  !  With  the  same 
awkward  indirectness,  he  said  vaguely,  "  But 
it  might  have  been  your  letters,  you  know  ?  " 

"  But  it  was  n't,"  she  said,  simply.  "  It 
ought  to  have  been.  I  wish  it  had  "  —  She 
stopped,  and  again  regarded  him  with  a 
strange  expression.  "  Well,"  she  said  slowly, 
"  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  To  find  out  the  scoundrel  who  has  done 
this,"  he  said  firmly,  "  and  punish  him  as  he 
deserves." 

The  almost  imperceptible  shrug  that  had 
raised  her  shoulders  gave  way  as  she  re- 
garded him  with  a  look  of  wearied  compas- 
sion. 

"No,"   she   said,   gravely,   "you   cannot. 


CRESS  Y.  247 

They're  too  many  for  you.  You  must  go 
away,  at  once." 

"  Never,"  he  said  indignantly.  "  Even  if 
it  were  not  a  cowardice.  It  would  be  more 
—  a  confession  I  " 

"  Not  more  than  they  already  know,"  she 
said  wearily.  "  But,  I  tell  you,  you  must 
go.  I  have  sneaked  out  of  the  house  and 
run  here  all  the  way  to  warn  you.  If  you  — 
you  care  for  me,  Jack  — you  will  go." 

"  I  should  be  a  traitor  to  you  if  I  did,"  he 
said  quickly.  "  I  shall  stay." 

"But  if  — if  — Jack  — if"—  she  drew 
nearer  him  with  a  new-found  timidity,  and 
then  suddenly  placed  her  two  hands  upon 
his  shoulders :  "If  —  if  —  Jack  —  / were  to 
go  with  you  ?  " 

The  old  rapt,  eager  look  of  possession  had 
come  back  to  her  face  now ;  her  lips  were 
softly  parted.  Yet  even  then  she  seemed  to 
be  waiting  some  reply  more  potent  than  that 
syllabled  on  the  lips  of  the  man  before  her. 

Howbeit  that  was  the  only  response. 
"  Darling,"  he  said  kissing  her,  "  but  would 
n't  that  justify  them  "  — 

"  Stop,"  she  said  suddenly.  Then  putting 
her  hand  over  his  mouth,  she  continued  with 
the  same  half-weary  expression  :  "  Don't  let 


248  CRESS  Y. 

us  go  over  all  that  again  either.  It  is  so 
tiresome.  Listen,  dear.  You  '11  do  one  or 
two  little  things  for  me  —  won't  you,  dandy 
boy  ?  Don't  linger  long  at  the  school-house 
after  lessons.  Go  right  home !  Don't  look 
after  these  men  to-day  —  to-morrow,  Satur- 
day, is  your  holiday — you  know  —  and  you  '11 
have  more  time.  Keep  to  yourself  to-day  as 
much  as  you  can,  dear,  for  twelve  hours  — 
until  —  until  —  you  hear  from  me,  you  know. 
It  will  be  all  right  then,"  she  added,  lifting 
her  eyelids  with  a  sudden  odd  resemblance 
to  her  father's  look  of  drowsy  pain,  which 
Ford  had  never  noticed  before.  "  Promise 
me  that,  dear,  won't  you?  " 

With  a  mental  reservation  he  promised 
hurriedly  —  preoccupied  in  his  wonder  why 
she  seemed  to  avoid  his  explanation,  in  his 
desire  to  know  what  had  happened,  in  the 
pride  that  had  kept  him  from  asking  more 
or  volunteering  a  defence,  and  in  his  still 
haunting  sense  of  having  been  wronged. 
Yet  he  could  not  help  saying  as  he  caught 
and  held  her  hand  :  — 

"  You  have  not  doubted  me,  Cressy  ?  You 
have  not  allowed  this  infamous  raking  up  of 
things  that  are  past  and  gone  to  alter  your 
feelings  ?  " 


CRESS  r.  249 

She  looked  at  him  abstractedly.  "  You 
think  it  might  alter  anybody's  feelings, 
then?" 

"  Nobody  's  who  really  loved  another  "  — 
he  stammered. 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  of  it  any  more,"  she 
said  suddenly  stretching  out  her  arms,  lifting 
them  above  her  head  with  a  wearied  gesture, 
and  then  letting  them  fall  clasped  before  her 
in  her  old  habitual  fashion.  "  It  makes  my 
head  ache ;  what  with  Paw  and  Maw  and  the 
rest  of  them  —  I/m  sick  of  it  all." 

She  turned  away  as  Ford  drew  back  coldly 
and  let  her  hand  fall  from  his  arm.  She 
took  a  few  steps  forward,  stopped,  ran  back 
to  him  again,  crushed  his  face  and  head  in  a 
close  embrace,  and  then  seemed  to  dip  like  a 
bird  into  the  tall  bracken,  and  was  gone. 

The  master  stood  for  some  moments  cha- 
grined and  bewildered;  it  was  character- 
istic of  his  temperament  that  he  had  paid 
less  heed  to  what  she  told  him  than  what  he 
imagined  had  passed  between  her  mother 
and  herself.  She  was  naturally  jealous  of 
the  letters  —  he  could  forgive  her  for  that ; 
she  had  doubtless  been  twitted  about  them, 
but  he  could  easily  explain  them  to  her  par- 
ents —  as  he  would  have  done  to  her.  But 


250  CREBSY. 

he  was  not  such  a  fool  as  to  elope  with  her 
at  such  a  moment,  without  first  clearing  his 
character  —  and  knowing  more  of  hers.  And 
it  was  equally  characteristic  of  him  that  in 
his  sense  of  injury  he  confounded  her  with 
the  writer  of  the  letters  —  as  sympathizing 
with  his  correspondent  in  her  estimate  of  his 
character,  and  was  quite  carried  away  with 
the  belief  that  he  was  equally  wronged  by 
both. 

It  was  not  until  he  reached  the  school- 
house  that  the  evidences  of  last  night's  out- 
rage for  a  time  distracted  his  mind  from  his 
singular  interview.  He  was  struck  with  the 
workmanlike  manner  in  which  the  locks  had 
been  restored,  and  the  care  that  had  evi- 
dently been  taken  to  remove  the  more  obvi- 
ous and  brutal  traces  of  burglary.  This 
somewhat  staggered  his  theory  that  Seth 
Davis  was  the  perpetrator  ;  mechanical  skill 
and  thoughtfulness  were  not  among  the 
lout's  characteristics.  But  he  was  still  more 
disconcerted  on  pushing  back  his  chair  to 
find  a  small  india-rubber  tobacco  pouch  ly- 
ing beneath  it.  The  master  instantly  recog- 
nized it :  he  had  seen  it  a  hundred  times 
before  —  it  was  Uncle  Ben's.  It  was  not 
there  when  he  had  closed  the  room  yester- 


CRESS  Y.  251 

day  afternoon.  Either  Uncle  Ben  had  been 
there  last  night,  or  had  anticipated  him  this 
morning.  But  in  the  latter  case  he  would 
scarcely  have  overlooked  his  fallen  property 
—  that,  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  might 
have  readily  escaped  detection.  His  brow 
darkened  with  a  sudden  conviction  that  it 
was  Uncle  Ben  who  was  the  real  and  only 
offender,  and  that  his  simplicity  of  the 
previous  night  was  part  of  his  deception. 
A  sickening  sense  that  he  had  been  again 
duped  —  but  why  or  to  what  purpose  he 
hardly  dared  to  think  —  overcame  him. 
Who  among  these  strange  people  could  he 
ever  again  trust  ?  After  the  fashion  of  more 
elevated  individuals,  he  had  accepted  the 
respect  and  kindness  of  those  he  believed 
his  inferiors  as  a  natural  tribute  to  his  own 
superiority;  any  change  in  their  feelings 
must  therefore  be  hypocrisy  or  disloyalty  ; 
it  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  have 
fallen  below  their  standard. 

The  arrival  of  the  children  and  the  resump- 
tion of  his  duties  for  a  time  diverted  him. 
But  although  the  morning's  exercise  restored 
the  master's  self-confidence,  it  cannot  be  said 
to  have  improved  his  judgment.  Disdain- 
ing to  question  Rupert  Filgee,  as  the  possi- 


252  CRESS  T. 

ble  confidant  of  Uncle  Ben,  he  answered  the 
curious  inquiries  of  the  children  as  to  the 
broken  dooiiock  with  the  remark  that  it  was 
a  matter  that  he  should  have  to  bring  before 
the  Trustees  of  the  Board,  and  by  the  time 
that  school  was  over  and  the  pupils  dis- 
missed he  had  quite  resolved  upon  this  for- 
mal disposition  of  it.  In  spite  of  Cressy's 
warning  —  rather  because  of  it  —  in  the 
new  attitude  he  had  taken  towards  her  and 
her  friends,  he  lingered  in  the  school-house 
until  late.  He  had  occupied  himself  in 
drawing  up  a  statement  of  the  facts,  with 
an  intimation  that  his  continuance  in  the 
school  would  depend  upon  a  rigid  investi- 
gation of  the  circumstances,  when  he  was 
aroused  by  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs.  The 
next  moment  the  school -house  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  dozen  men. 

He  looked  up;  half  of  them  dismounted 
and  entered  the  room.  The  other  half  re- 
mained outside  darkening  the  windows  with 
their  motionless  figures.  Each  man  carried 
a  gun  before  him  on  the  saddle ;  each  man 
wore  a  rude  mask  of  black  cloth  partly  cov- 
ering his  face. 

Although  the  master  was  instinctively 
aware  that  he  was  threatened  by  serious  dan- 


CRESS  Y.  253 

ger,  he  was  far  from  being  impressed  by  the 
arms  and  disguise  of  his  mysterious  intru- 
ders. On  the  contrary,  the  obvious  and 
glaring  inconsistency  of  this  cheaply  theat- 
rical invasion  of  the  peaceful  school-house ; 
of  this  opposition  of  menacing  figures  to  the 
scattered  childish  primers  and  text -books 
that  still  lay  on  the  desks  around  him,  only 
extracted  from  him  a  half  scornful  smile  as 
he  coolly  regarded  them.  The  fearlessness 
of  ignorance  is  often  as  unassailable  as  the 
most  experienced  valor,  and  the  awe-inspir- 
ing invaders  were  at  first  embarrassed  and 
then  humanly  angry.  A  lank  figure  to  the 
right  made  a  forward  movement  of  impo- 
tent rage,  but  was  checked  by  the  evident 
leader  of  the  party. 

"  Ef  he  likes  to  take  it  that  way,  there 
ain't  no  Regulators  law  agin  it,  I  reckon," 
he  said,  in  a  voice  which  the  master  instantly 
recognized  as  Jim  Harrison's,  "  though  ez  a 
gin'ral  thing  they  don't  usually  find  it  fun" 
Then  turning  to  the  master  he  added,  "  Mis- 
ter Ford,  ef  that  's  the  name  you  go  by 
everywhere,  we  're  wantin'  a  man  about 
your  size." 

Ford  knew  that  he  was  in  hopeless  peril. 
He  knew  that  he  was  physically  defenceless 


254  CRESS  Y. 

and  at  the  mercy  of  twelve  armed  and  law- 
less  men.  But  he  retained  a  preternatural 
clearness  of  perception,  and  audacity  born 
of  unqualified  scorn  for  his  antagonists,  with 
a  feminine  sharpness  of  tongue.  In  a  voice 
which  astonished  even  himself  by  its  contemp- 
tuous distinctness,  he  said :  "  My  name  is 
Ford,  but  as  I  only  suppose  your  name  is 
Harrison  perhaps  you  '11  be  fair  enough  to 
take  that  rag  from  your  face  and  show  it  to 
me  like  a  man." 

The  man  removed  the  mask  from  his  face 
with  a  slight  laugh. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Ford.  "Now,  per- 
haps you  will  tell  me  which  one  of  you  gen- 
tlemen broke  into  the  school-house,  forced 
the  lock  of  my  desk,  and  stole  my  papers. 
If  he  is  here  I  wish  to  tell  him  he  is  not 
only  a  thief,  but  a  cur  and  a  coward,  for  the 
letters  are  a  woman's  —  whom  he  neither 
knows  nor  has  the  right  to  know." 

If  he  had  hoped  to  force  a  personal  quar- 
rel and  trust  his  life  to  the  chance  of  a  sin- 
gle antagonist,  he  was  disappointed,  for  al- 
though his  unexpected  attitude  had  produced 
some  effect  among  the  group,  and  even  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  men  at  the  win- 
dows, Harrison  strode  deliberately  towards 
him. 


CRESS  T,  255 

"  That  kin  wait,"  he  said ;  "  jest  now  we 
propose  to  take  you  and  your  letters  and 
drop  'em  and  you  outer  this  yer  township 
of  Injin  Springs.  You  kin  take  'em  back 
to  the  woman  or  critter  you  got  'em  of.  But 
we  kalkilate  you  're  a  little  too  handy  and 
free  in  them  sorter  things  to  teach  school 
round  yer,  and  we  kinder  allow  we  don't 
keer  to  hev  our  gals  and  boys  eddicated  up 
to  your  high-toned  standard.  So  ef  you 
choose  to  kem  along  easy  we  '11  mak'  you 
comf 'ble  on  a  hoss  we  've  got  waitin'  outside, 
an'  escort  you  across  the  line.  Ef  you  don't 
—  we  '11  take  you  anyway." 

The  master  cast  a  rapid  glance  around 
him.  In  his  quickness  of  perception  he  had 
already  noted  that  the  led  horse  among  the 
cavalcade  was  fastened  by  a  lariat  to  one  of 
the  riders  so  that  escape  by  flight  was  im- 
possible, and  that  he  had  not  a  single 
weapon  to  defend  himself  with  or  even  pro- 
voke, in  his  desperation,  the  struggle  that 
could  forestall  ignominy  by  death.  Nothing 
was  left  him  but  his  voice,  clear  and  tren- 
chant as  he  faced  them. 

"  You  are  twelve  to  one,"  he  said  calmly, 
"  but  if  there  is  a  single  man  among  you 
who  dare  step  forward  and  accuse  me  of 


256  CRE8ST. 

what  you  only  together  dare  do,  I  will  tell 
him  he  is  a  liar  and  a  coward,  and  stand 
here  ready  to  make  it  good  against  him. 
You  come  here  as  judge  and  jury  condemn- 
ing me  without  trial,  and  confronting  me 
with  no  accusers ;  you  come  here  as  lawless 
avengers  of  your  honor,  and  you  dare  not 
give  me  the  privilege  of  as  lawlessly  defend- 
ing my  own." 

There  was  another  slight  murmur  among 
the  men,  but  the  leader  moved  impatiently 
forward.  "  We  've  had  enough  o'  your 
preachhr  :  we  want  you"  he  said  roughly. 
"  Come." 

"  Stop,"  said  a  dull  voice. 

It  came  from  a  mute  figure  which  had 
remained  motionless  among  the  others. 
Every  eye  was  turned  upon  it  as  it  rose  and 
lazily  pushed  the  cloth  from  its  face. 

"  Hiram  McKinstry !  "  said  the  others  in 
mingled  tones  of  astonishment  and  sus- 
picion. 

"  That 's  me  !  "  said  McKinstry,  coming 
forward  with  heavy  deliberation.  "  I  joined 
this  yer  delegation  at  the  cross-roads  instead 
o'  my  brother,  who  had  the  call.  I  reckon 
et  's  all  the  same  —  or  mebbe  better.  For  I 
perpose  to  take  this  yer  gentleman  off  your 
hand*." 


CHESS  Y.  257 

He  lifted  his  slumbrous  eyes  for  the  first 
time  to  the  master,  and  at  the  same  time  put 
himself  between  him  and  Harrison.  "  I 
perpose,"  he  continued,  "  to  take  him  at  his 
word ;  I  perpose  ter  give  him  a  chance  to  an- 
swer with  a  gun.  And  ez  I  reckon,  by  all 
accounts,  there  's  no  man  yer  ez  hez  a  better 
right  than  we,  I  perpose  to  be  the  man  to  put 
that  question  to  him  in  the  same  way.  Et 
may  not  suit  some  gents,"  he  continued 
slowly,  facing  an  angry  exclamation  from  the 
lank  figure  behind  him,  "  ez  would  prefer  to 
hev  eleven  men  to  take  up  their  private 
quo'lls,  but  even  then  I  reckon  that  the  man 
who  is  the  most  injured  hez  the  right  to  the 
first  say  and  that  man 's  me" 

With  a  careful  deliberation  that  had  a 
double  significance  to  the  malcontents,  he 
handed  his  own  rifle  to  the  master  and  with- 
out looking  at  him  continued :  "  I  reckon, 
sir,  you  've  seen  that  afore,  but  ef  it  ain't 
quite  to  your  hand,  any  of  those  gents,  I  kal- 
kilate,  will  be  high-toned  enuff  to  giv  you 
the  chyce  o'  theirs.  And  there  's  no  need  o' 
trapsin'  beyon'  the  township  lines,  to  fix  this 
yer  affair ;  I  perpose  to  do  it  in  ten  minutes 
in  the  brush  yonder." 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  feelings 

v.  24  I— Bret  Harte 


258  CUES  ST. 

and  intentions  of  the  men  around  him,  the 
precedence  of  McKinstry's  right  to  the 
duello  was  a  principle  too  deeply  rooted  in 
their  traditions  to  deny ;  if  any  resistance  to 
it  had  been  contemplated  by  some  of  them, 
the  fact  that  the  master  was  now  armed, 
and  that  Mr.  McKinstry  would  quickly  do 
battle  at  his  side  with  a  revolver  in  defence 
of  his  rights,  checked  any  expression.  They 
silently  drew  back  as  the  master  and  McKin- 
stry slowly  passed  out  of  the  school-house 
together,  and  then  followed  in  their  rear. 
In  that  interval  the  master  turned  to  Mc- 
Kinstry and  said  in  a  low  voice :  "  I  accept 
your  challenge  and  thank  you  for  it.  You 
have  never  done  me  a  greater  kindness  — 
whatever  I  have  done  to  you  —  yet  I  want 
you  to  believe  that  neither  now  nor  then  -*- 
I  meant  you  any  harm." 

"  Ef  you  mean  by  that,  sir,  that  ye  reckon 
ye  won't  return  my  fire,  ye  're  blind  and 
wrong.  For  it  will  do  you  no  good  with 
them,"  he  said  with  a  significant  wave  of  his 
crippled  hand  towards  the  following  crowd, 
"  nor  me  neither." 

Firmly  resolved,  however,  that  he  would 
not  fire  at  McKinstry,  and  clinging  blindly 
to  this  which  he  believed  was  the  last  idea 


CRESST.  259 

of  his  foolish  life,  he  continued  on  without 
another  word  until  they  reached  the  open 
strip  of  chemisal  that  flanked  the  clearing. 

The  rude  preliminaries  were  soon  settled. 
The  parties  armed  with  rifles  were  to  fire  at 
the  word  from  a  distance  of  eighty  yards, 
and  then  approach  each  other,  continuing 
the  fight  with  revolvers  until  one  or  the 
other  fell.  The  selection  of  seconds  was 
effected  by  the  elder  Harrison  acting  for 
McKinstry,  and  after  a  moment's  delay  by 
the  volunteering  of  the  long,  lank  figure  pre- 
viously noted  to  act  for  the  master.  Preoccu- 
pied by  other  thoughts,  Mr.  Ford  paid  little 
heed  to  his  self -elected  supporter,  who  to  the 
others  seemed  to  be  only  taking  that  method 
of  showing  his  contempt  for  McKinstry's  re- 
cent insult.  The  master  received  the  rifle 
mechanically  from  his  hand  and  walked  to 
position.  He  noticed,  however,  and  remem- 
bered afterwards  that  his  second  was  half 
hidden  by  the  trunk  of  a  large  pine  to  his 
right  that  marked  the  limit  of  the  ground. 

In  that  supreme  moment  it  must  be  re- 
corded, albeit  against  all  preconceived  theory, 
that  he  did  not  review  his  past  life,  was  not 
illuminated  by  a  flash  of  remorseful  or  sen- 
timental memory,  and  did  not  commend  his 


260  CRE8ST. 

soul  to  his  Maker,  but  that  he  was  simply 
and  keenly  alive  to  the  very  actual  present 
in  which  he  still  existed  and  to  his  one  idea 
of  not  firing  at  his  adversary.  And  if  any- 
thing could  render  his  conduct  more  theoret- 
ically incorrect  it  was  a  certain  exalted  sense 
that  he  was  doing  quite  right  and  was  not 
only  not  a  bad  sort  of  fellow,  but  one  whom 
his  survivors  might  possibly  regret ! 

"  Are  you  ready,  gentlemen  ?  One  — 
two  —  three  —  fi  .  .  . !  " 

The  explosions  were  singularly  simultane- 
ous —  so  remarkable  in  fact  that  it  seemed 
to  the  master  that  his  rifle,  fired  in  the  air, 
had  given  a  double  report.  A  light  wreath 
of  smoke  lay  between  him  and  his  opponent. 
He  was  unhurt  —  so  evidently  was  his  ad- 
versary, for  the  voice  rose  again. 

"  Advance  !  .  .  .  Hallo  there !     Stop  !  " 

He  looked  up  quickly  to  see  McKinstry 
stagger  and  then  fall  heavily  to  the  ground. 

With  an  exclamation  of  horror,  the  first 
and  only  terrible  emotion  he  had  felt,  he 
ran  to  the  fallen  man,  as  Harrison  reached 
his  side  at  the  same  moment. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  he  said  wildly,  throw- 
ing himself  on  his  knees  beside  McKinstry, 
"  what  has  happened  ?  For  I  swear  to  you, 


CUE  8  8  T.  261 

I  never  aimed  at  you !  I  fired  in  the  air. 
Speak !  Tell  him,  you,"  he  turned  with  a 
despairing  appeal  to  Harrison,  "you  must 
have  seen  it  all  —  tell  him  it  was  not  me !  " 

A  half  wondering,  half  incredulous  smile 
passed  quickly  over  Harrison's  face.  "In 
course  you  did  n't  mean  it,"  he  said  dryly, 
"  but  let  that  slide.  Get  up  and  get  away 
from  yer,  while  you  kin,"  he  added  impa- 
tiently, with  a  significant  glance  at  one  or 
two  men  who  lingered  after  the  sudden  and 
general  dispersion  of  the  crowd  at  McKin- 
stry'sfall.  "  Get  —  will  ye  !  " 

"  Never !  "  said  the  young  man  passion- 
ately, "  until  he  knows  that  it  was  not  my 
hand  that  fired  that  shot." 

McKinstry  painfully  struggled  to  his  el- 
bow. "It  took  me  yere,"  he  said  with  a 
slow  deliberation,  as  if  answering  some  pre- 
vious question,  and  pointing  to  his  hip, 
"  and  it  kinder  let  me  down  when  I  started 
forward  at  the  second  call." 

"  But  it  was  not  I  who  did  it,  McKinstry, 
I  swear  it.  Hear  me !  For  God's  sake,  say 
you  believe  me." 

McKinstry  turned  his  drowsy  troubled 
eyes  upon  the  master  as  if  he  were  vaguely 
recalling  something.  "  Stand  back  thar  a 


262  CRE88T. 

minit,  will  ye,"  he  said  to  Harrison,  with  a 
languid  wave  of  his  crippled  hand ;  "  I  want 
ter  speak  to  this  yer  man." 

Harrison  drew  back  a  few  paces  and  the 
master  sought  to  take  the  wounded  man's 
hand,  but  he  was  stopped  by  a  gesture, 
"  Where  hev  you  put  Cressy  ?  "  McKinstry 
said  slowly. 

" 1  don't  understand  you,"  stammered 
Ford. 

"  Where  are  you  hidin'  her  from  me  ? " 
repeated  McKinstry  with  painful  distinct- 
ness. "  Whar  hev  you  run  her  to,  that 
you  're  reckonin'  to  jine  her  arter  —  arter 
—  this?" 

"  I  am  not  hiding  her !  I  am  not  going 
to  her !  I  do  not  know  where  she  is.  I 
have  not  seen  her  since  we  parted  early  this 
morning  without  a  word  of  meeting  again," 
said  the  master  rapidly,  yet  with  a  bewil- 
dered astonishment  that  was  obvious  even  to 
the  dulled  faculties  of  his  hearer. 

"  That  war  true  ?  "  asked  McKinstry,  lay- 
ing his  hand  upon  the  master's  shoulder  and 
bringing  his  dull  eyes  to  the  level  of  the 
young  man's. 

"It  is  the  whole  truth,"  said  Ford  fer- 
vently, "  and  true  also  that  I  never  raised 
my  hand  against  you." 


CUE ss  r.  263 

McKinstry  beckoned  to  Harrison  and  the 
two  others  who  had  joined  him,  and  then 
sank  partly  back  with  his  hand  upon  hie 
side,  where  the  slow  empurpling  of  his  red 
shirt  showed  the  slight  ooze  of  a  deeply- 
seated  wound. 

"You  fellers  kin  take  me  over  to  the 
ranch,"  he  said  calmly,  "  and  let  him,"  point- 
ing to  Ford,  "ride  your  best  hoss  fer  the 
doctor.  I  don't,"  he  continued  in  grave  ex- 
planation, "  gin'rally  use  a  doctor,  but  this 
yer  is  suthin'  outside  the  old  woman's  regu- 
lar gait."  He  paused,  and  then  drawing  the 
master's  head  down  towards  him,  he  added 
in  his  ear,  "  When  I  get  to  hev  a  look  at  the 
size  and  shape  o'  this  yer  ball  that 's  in  my 
hip,  I'll—  I'll  —  I'll  —  be  —  a  —  little  more 
kam ! "  A  gleam  of  dull  significance  strug- 
gled into  his  eye.  The  master  evidently  un- 
derstood him,  for  he  rose  quickly,  ran  to  the 
horse,  mounted  him  and  dashed  off  for  med- 
ical assistance,  while  McKinstry,  closing  his 
heavy  lids,  anticipated  this  looked-for  calm 
by  fainting  gently  away. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

OP  the  various  sentimental  fallacies  en- 
tertained by  adult  humanity  in  regard  to 
childhood,  none  are  more  ingeniously  inac- 
curate and  gratuitously  idiotic  than  a  com- 
fortable belief  in  its  profound  ignorance  of 
the  events  in  which  it  daily  moves,  and  the 
motives  and  characters  of  the  people  who 
surround  it.  Yet  even  the  occasional  reve- 
lations of  an  enfant  terrible  are  as  nothing 
compared  to  the  perilous  secrets  which  a  dis- 
creet infant  daily  buttons  up,  or  secures 
with  a  hook-and-eye,  or  even  fastens  with  a 
safety-pin  across  its  gentle  bosom.  Society 
can  never  cease  to  be  grateful  for  that  tact 
and  consideration  —  qualities  more  often 
joined  with  childish  intuition  and  perception 
than  with  matured  observation  —  that  they 
owe  to  it ;  and  the  most  accomplished  man 
or  woman  of  the  great  world  might  take  a 
lesson  from  this  little  audience  who  receive 
from  their  lips  the  lie  they  feel  too  palpable, 
with  round-eyed  complacency,  or  outwardly 


CRESS  r.  265 

accept  as  moral  and  genuine  the  hollow  sen- 
timent they  have  overheard  rehearsed  in  pri- 
vate for  their  benefit. 

It  was  not  strange  therefore  that  the  lit- 
tle people  of  the  Indian  Spring  school  knew 
perhaps  more  of  the  real  relations  of  Cressy 
McKinstry  to  her  admirers  than  the  admir- 
ers themselves.  Not  that  this  knowledge 
was  outspoken  —  for  children  rarely  gossip 
in  the  grown-up  sense  —  or  even  communi- 
cable by  words  intelligent  to  the  matured 
intellect.  A  whisper,  a  laugh  that  often 
seemed  vague  and  unmeaning,  conveyed  to 
each  other  a  world  of  secret  significance,  and 
an  apparently  senseless  burst  of  merriment 
in  which  the  whole  class  joined  and  that  the 
adult  critic  set  down  to  "  animal  spirits  "  — 
a  quality  much  more  rare  with  children  than 
generally  supposed  —  was  only  a  sympa- 
thetic expression  of  some  discovery  happily 
oblivious  to  older  preoccupation.  The  child- 
ish simplicity  of  Uncle  Ben  perhaps  ap- 
pealed more  strongly  to  their  sympathy,  and 
although,  for  that  very  reason,  they  re- 
garded him  with  no  more  respect  than  tfcey 
did  each  other,  he  was  at  times  carelessly 
admitted  to  their  confidence.  It  was  espe- 
cially Kupert  Filgee  who  extended  a  kind 


266  CRES8Y. 

of  patronizing  protectorate  over  him  —  not 
unmixed  with  doubts  of  his  sanity,  in  spite 
of  the  promised  confidential  clerkship  he  was 
to  receive  from  his  hands. 

On  the  day  of  the  events  chronicled  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  Rupert  on  returning 
from  school  was  somewhat  surprised  to  find 
Uncle  Ben  perched  upon  the  rail-fence  be- 
fore the  humble  door  of  the  Filgee  mansion 
and  evidently  awaiting  him.  Slowly  dis- 
mounting as  Rupert  and  Johnny  approached, 
he  beamed  upon  the  former  for  some  mo- 
ments with  arch  and  yet  affable  mystery. 

"  Roopy,  old  man,  I  s  'pose  ye  've  got  yer 
duds  all  ready  in  yer  pack,  eh?  " 

A  flush  of  pleasure  passed  over  the  boy's 
handsome  face.  He  cast,  however,  a  hurried 
look  down  on  the  all-pervading  Johnny. 

"  'Cause  ye  see  we  kalkilate  to  take  the 
down  stage  to  Sacramento  at  four  o  'clock," 
continued  Uncle  Ben,  enjoying  Rupert's 
half  sceptical  surprise.  "Ye  enter  into 
office,  so  to  speak,  with  me  at  that  hour, 
when  the  sellery,  seventy-five  dollars  a  month 
and  board,  ez  private  and  confidential  clerk, 
begins  — eh?" 

Rupert's  dimples  deepened  in  charming, 
almost  feminine,  embarrassment.  "  But 
dad  —  ?  "  he  stammered. 


CREBBY.  267 

"  Et  's  all  right  with  Mm.  He 's  agree- 
able." 

"But  —  ?" 

Uncle  Ben  followed  Rupert's  glance  at 
Johnny,  who  however  appeared  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  the  pattern  of  Uncle  Ben's  new 
trousers. 

"  That 's  fixed,"  he  said  with  a  meaning 
smile.  "  There  's  a  sort  o'  bonus  we  pays 
down,  you  know  —  for  a  Chinyman  to  do 
the  odd  jobs." 

"And  teacher — Mr.  Ford  —  did  ye  tell 
him  ?  "  said  Rupert  brightening. 

Uncle  Ben  coughed  slightly.  "  He 's 
agreeable,  too,  I  reckon.  That  is,"  he  wiped 
his  mouth  meditatively,  "  he  ez  good  ez  al- 
lowed it  in  gin'ral  conversation  a  week  ago, 
Roop." 

A  swift  shadow  of  suspicion  darkened  the 
boy's  brown  eyes.  "  Is  anybody  else  goin' 
with  us  ?  "  he  said  quickly. 

"  Not  this  yer  trip,"  replied  Uncle  Ben 
complacently.  "Ye  see,  Roop,"  he  con- 
tinued, drawing  him  aside  with  an  air  of 
comfortable  mystery,  "  this  yer  biz'ness 
b'longs  to  the  private  and  confidential 
branch  of  the  office.  From  informashun 
we  've  received  " — 


268  CREBSY. 

"  We  ?  "  interrupted  Rupert. 

"'We/  that's  theo$ce,you  know,"  con- 
tinued  Uncle  Ben  with  a  heavy  assumption 
of  business  formality,  "  wot  we  've  received 
per  several  hands  and  consignee  —  we  — 
that 's  you  and  me,  Roop  —  we  goes  down  to 
Sacramento  to  inquire  into  the  stand  in'  of  a 
certing  party,  as  per  invoice,  and  ter  see  — 
ter  see  —  ter  negotiate  you  know,  tw  find 
out  if  she 's  married  or  di-vorced,"  he  con- 
cluded quickly,  as  if  abandoning  for  tho  mo- 
ment his  business  manner  in  consideration 
of  Rupert's  inexperience.  "  We  're  to  find 
out  her  standin',  Roop,"  ho  began  again  with 
a  more  judicious  blending  of  ease  and  tech- 
nicality, "and  her  contracts,  if  any,  and 
where  she  lives  and  her  way  o'  life,  and  ex- 
ami  no  lior  books  and  papers  o/  to  marriages 
and  sich,  and  arbitrate  with  hor  gin'rally  in 
conversation  —  you  inside  the  house  and  me 
out  on  the  pavement,  ready  to  be  called  in  if 
an  interview  with  business  principals  is  do- 
sired." 

Observing  Rupert  somewhat  perplexed 
and  confused  with  these  technicalities,  ho 
i;i(M,fully  abandoned  them  for  l,h<»  pivsrnt, 
and  consulting  a  pocket-book  said,  "  I  've 
made  a  memorandum  of  some  pints  that 


CRESS  r.  269 

we'll  talk  over  on  the  journey,"  again 
charged  Kupert  to  be  punctually  at  the  stage 
office  with  his  carpet-bag,  and  cheerfully  de- 
parted. 

When  he  had  disappeared  Johnny  Filgee, 
without  a  single  word  of  explanation,  fell 
upon  his  brother,  and  at  once  began  a  vio- 
lent attack  of  kicks  and  blows  upon  his  legs 
and  other  easily  accessible  parts  of  his  per- 
son, accompanying  his  assault  with  unintel- 
ligible gasps  anil  actions,  finally  culminating 
in  a  flood  of  tears  and  the  casting  of  himself 
on  his  back  in  the  dust  with  the  copper-fas- 
tened toes  of  his  small  boots  turning  im- 
aginary wheels  in  the  air.  Rupert  received 
these  characteristic  marks  of  despairing  and 
outraged  atYectiou  with  great  forbearance, 
only  saying,  "There,  now,  Johnny,  quit 
that,"  and  eventually  bearing  him  still 
struggling  into  the  house.  Here  Johnny, 
declaring  that  he  would  kill  any  "Chiny- 
inan  "  that  otYered  to  dress  him,  and  burn 
down  the  house  after  his  brother's  infamous 
desertion  of  it,  Rupert  was  constrained  to 
mingle  a  few  nervous,  excited  tears  with  his 
brother's  outbreak.  Whereat  Johnny,  ad- 
mitting the  alleviation  of  an  orange,  a  four- 
bladed  knife,  and  the  reversionary  interest 


270  CRESS  Y. 

in  much  of  Rupert's  personal  property,  be- 
came more  subdued.  Sitting  there  with 
their  arms  entwined  about  each  other,  the 
sunlight  searching  the  shiftless  desolation  of 
their  motherless  home,  the  few  cheap  play- 
things they  had  known  lying  around  them, 
they  beguiled  themselves  with  those  charm- 
ing illusions  of  their  future  intentions  com- 
mon to  their  years  —  illusions  they  only  half 
believed  themselves  and  half  accepted  of 
each  other.  Rupert  was  quite  certain  that 
he  would  return  in  a  few  days  with  a  gold 
watch  and  a  present  for  Johnny,  and  Johnny, 
with  a  baleful  vision  of  never  seeing  him 
again,  and  a  catching  breath,  magnificently 
undertook  to  bring  in  the  wood  and  build 
the  fire  and  wash  the  dishes  "  all  of  him- 
self." And  then  there  were  a  few  childish 
confidences  regarding  their  absent  father — 
then  ingenuously  playing  poker  in  the  Mag- 
nolia Saloon  —  that  might  have  made  that 
public-spirited,  genial  companion  somewhat 
uncomfortable,  and  more  tears  that  were 
half  smiling  and  some  brave  silences  that 
were  wholly  pathetic,  and  then  the  hour  for 
Rupert's  departure  all  too  suddenly  arrived. 
They  separated  with  ostentatious  whooping, 
and  then  Johnny,  suddenly  overcome  with 


CRESS  Y.  271 

the  dreadfulness  of  all  earthly  things,  and 
the  hollowness  of  life  generally,  instantly  re- 
solved to  run  away  I 

To  do  this  he  prepared  himself  with  a  pur- 
poseless hatchet,  an  inconsistent  but  long- 
treasured  lump  of  putty  and  all  the  sugar 
that  was  left  in  the  cracked  sugar-bowl. 
Thus  accoutred  he  sallied  forth,  first  to  re- 
move all  traces  of  his  hated  existence  that 
might  be  left  in  his  desk  at  school.  If  the 
master  were  there  he  would  say  Rupert  had 
sent  him  ;  if  he  was  n't,  he  would  climb  in  at 
the  window.  The  sun  was  already  sinking 
when  he  reached  the  clearing  and  found  a 
cavalcade  of  armed  men  around  the  building. 

Johnny's  first  conviction  was  that  the  mas- 
ter had  killed  Uncle  Ben  or  Masters,  and 
that  the  men,  taking  advantage  of  the  ab- 
sence of  his  —  Johnny's  —  big  brother,  were 
about  to  summarily  execute  him.  Observ- 
ing no  struggle  from  within,  his  second  be- 
lief was  that  the  master  had  been  suddenly 
elected  Governor  of  California  and  was 
about  to  start  with  a  state  escort  from  the 
school- house,  and.  that  he,  Johnny,  was  in 
time  to  see  the  procession.  But  when  the 
master  appeared  with  McKinstry,  followed 
by  part  of  the  crowd  afoot,  this  quick-witted 


272  CRES8Y. 

child  of  the  frontier,  from  his  secure  outlook 
in  the  "  brush,"  gathered  enough  from  their 
fragmentary  speech  to  guess  the  serious  pur- 
port of  their  errand,  and  thrill  with  anticipa- 
tion and  slightly  creepy  excitement. 

A  duel !  A  thing  hitherto  witnessed  only 
by  grown-up  men,  afterwards  swaggering 
with  importance  and  strange  technical  blood- 
thirsty words,  and  now  for  the  first  time  re- 
served for  a  boy  —  and  that  boy  him,  Johnny ! 
—  to  behold  in  all  its  fearful  completeness  ! 
A  duel !  of  which  he,  Johnny,  meanly  aban- 
doned by  his  brother,  was  now  exalted  per- 
haps to  be  the  only  survivor !  He  could 
scarcely  credit  his  senses.  It  was  too  much ! 

To  creep  through  the  brush  while  the  pre- 
liminaries were  being  settled,  reach  a  certain 
silver  fir  on  the  appointed  ground,  and  with 
the  aid  of  his  now  lucky  hatchet,  climb  un- 
seen to  its  upper  boughs,  was  an  exciting 
and  difficult  task,  but  one  eventually  over- 
come by  his  short  but  energetic  legs.  Here 
he  could  not  only  see  all  that  occurred,  but 
by  a  fortunate  chance  the  large  pine  next  to 
him  had  been  selected  as  the  limit  of  the 
ground.  The  sharp  eyes  of  the  boy  had 
long  since  penetrated  the  disguises  of  the 
remaining  masked  men,  and  when  the  long, 


CXE8SY.  273 

lank  figure  of  the  master's  self-appointed 
second  took  up  its  position  beneath  the  pines 
in  full  view  of  him,  although  hidden  from 
the  spectators,  Johnny  instantly  recognized 
it  to  be  none  other  than  Seth  Davis.  The 
manifest  inconsistency  of  his  appearance  as 
Mr.  Ford's  second  with  what  Johnny  knew 
of  his  relations  to  the  master  was  the  one 
thing  that  firmly  fixed  the  incident  in  the 
boy's  memory. 

The  men  were  already  in  position.  Har- 
rison stepped  forward  to  give  the  word. 
Johnny's  down -hanging  legs  tingled  with 
cramp  and  excitement.  Why  didn't  they 
begin?  What  were  they  waiting  for? 
What  if  it  were  interrupted,  or  —  terrible 
thought  —  made  up  at  the  last  moment? 
Would  they  "  holler  "  out  when  they  were 
hit,  or  stagger  round  convulsively  as  they 
did  at  the  "  cirkiss  "  ?  Would  they  all  run 
away  afterwards  and  leave  Johnny  alone  to 
tell  the  tale  ?  And  —  horrible  thought !  — 
would  any  body  believe  him  ?  Would  Ru- 
pert ?  Rupert,  had  he  "  on'y  knowed  this," 
he  would  n't  have  gone  away. 

"One"  — 

With  a  child's  perfect  faith  in  the  invul- 
nerable superiority  of  his  friends,  he  had  not 


274  CRE88T. 

even  looked  at  the  master,  but  only  at  his 
destined  victim.  Yet  as  the  word  "  two  " 
rang  out  Johnny's  attention  was  suddenly 
attracted  to  the  surprising  fact  that  the  mas- 
ter's second,  Seth  Davis,  had  also  drawn  a 
pistol,  and  from  behind  his  tree  was  delib- 
erately and  stealthily  aiming  at  McKinstry! 
He  understood  it  all  now  —  he  was  a  friend 
of  the  master's.  Bully  for  Seth ! 

"Three!" 

Crack!  Z-i-i-p!  Crackle  I  What  a  funny 
noise !  And  yet  he  was  obliged  to  throw 
himself  flat  upon  the  bough  to  keep  from 
falling.  It  seemed  to  have  snapped  beneath 
him  and  benumbed  his  right  leg.  He  did 
not  know  that  the  master's  bullet,  fired  in 
the  air,  had  ranged  along  the  bough,  strip- 
ping the  bark  throughout  its  length,  and 
glancing  with  half-spent  force  to  inflict  a 
slight  flesh  wound  on  his  leg ! 

He  was  giddy  and  a  little  frightened. 
And  he  had  seen  nobody  hit,  nor  nothin'. 
It  was  all  a  humbug !  Seth  had  disappeared. 
So  had  the  others.  There  was  a  faint  sound 
of  voices  and  something  like  a  group  in  the 
distance  —  that  was  all.  It  was  getting 
dark,  too,  and  his  leg  was  still  asleep,  but 
warm  and  wet.  He  would  get  down.  This 


CXB8BT.  276 

was  very  difficult,  for  his  leg  would  not  wake 
up,  and  but  for  the  occasional  support  he 
got  by  striking  his  hatchet  in  the  tree  he 
would  have  fallen  in  descending.  When  he 
reached  the  ground  his  leg  began  to  pain, 
and  looking  down  he  saw  that  his  stocking 
and  shoe  were  soaked  with  blood. 

His  small  and  dirty  handkerchief,  a  hard 
wad  in  his  pocket,  was  insufficient  to  staunch 
the  flow.  With  a  vague  recollection  of  a 
certain  poultice  applied  to  a  boil  on  his  fa- 
ther's neck,  he  collected  a  quantity  of  soft 
moss  and  dried  yerba  buena  leaves,  and  with 
the  aid  of  his  check  apron  and  of  one  of  his 
torn  suspenders  tightly  wound  round  the 
whole  mass,  achieved  a  bandage  of  such 
elephantine  proportions  that  he  could 
scarcely  move  with  it.  In  fact,  like  most 
imaginative  children,  he  became  slightly  ter- 
rified at  his  own  alarming  precautions. 
Nevertheless,  although  a  word  or  an  outcry 
from  him  would  have  at  that  moment 
brought  the  distant  group  to  his  assistance, 
a  certain  respect  to  himself  and  his  brother 
kept  him  from  uttering  even  a  whimper  of 
weakness. 

Yet  he  found  refuge,  oddly  enough,  in  a 
suppressed  but  bitter  denunciation  of  the 


276  CRESS  T. 

other  boys  of  his  acquaintance.  What  was 
Cal.  Harrison  doing,  while  he,  Johnny,  was 
alone  in  the  woods,  wounded  in  a  grown-up 
duel  —  for  nothing  would  convince  this 
doughty  infant  that  he  had  not  been  an  ac- 
tive participant?  Where  was  Jimmy  Sny- 
der  that  he  did  n't  come  to  his  assistance 
with  the  other  fellers  ?  Cowards  all ;  they 
were  afraid.  Ho,  ho !  And  he,  Johnny,  was 
n't  afraid  !  ho  —  he  did  n't  mind  it !  Nev- 
ertheless he  had  to  repeat  the  phrase  two  or 
three  times  until,  after  repeated  struggles  to 
move  forward  through  the  brush,  he  at  last 
sank  down  exhausted.  By  this  time  the  dis- 
tant group  had  slowly  moved  away,  carry- 
ing something  between  them,  and  leaving 
Johnny  alone  in  the  fast  coming  darkness. 
Yet  even  this  desertion  did  not  affect  him  as 
strongly  as  his  implicit  belief  in  the  cowardly 
treachery  of  his  old  associates. 

It  grew  darker  and  darker,  until  the  open 
theatre  of  the  late  conflict  appeared  enclosed 
in  funereal  walls ;  a  cool  searching  breath  of 
air  that  seemed  to  have  crept  through  the 
bracken  and  undergrowth  like  a  stealthy 
animal,  lifted  the  curls  on  his  hot  forehead. 
He  grasped  his  hatchet  firmly  as  against 
possible  wild  beasts,  and  as  a  medicinal  and 


CRESS  Y.  277 

remedial  precaution,  took  another  turn  with 
his  suspender  around  his  bandage.  It  oc- 
curred to  him  then  that  he  would  probably 
die.  They  would  all  feel  exceedingly  sorry 
and  alarmed,  and  regret  having  made  him 
wash  himself  on  Saturday  night.  They 
would  attend  his  funeral  in  large  numbers 
in  the  little  graveyard,  whej*e  a  white  tomb- 
stone inscribed  to  "  John  Filgee,  fell  in  a 
duel  at  the  age  of  seven,"  would  be  awaiting 
him.  He  would  forgive  his  brother,  his 
father,  and  Mr.  Ford.  Yet  even  then  he 
vaguely  resented  a  few  leaves  and  twigs 
dropped  by  a  woodpecker  in  the  tree  above 
him,  with  a  shake  of  his  weak  fist  and  an 
incoherent  declaration  that  they  could  n't 
"  play  no  babes  in  the  wood  on  him."  And 
then  having  composed  himself  he  once  more 
turned  on  his  side  to  die,  as  became  the 
scion  of  a  heroic  race!  The  free  woods, 
touched  by  an  upspringing  wind,  waved  their 
dark  arms  above  him,  and  higher  yet  a  few 
patient  stars  silently  ranged  themselves 
around  his  pillow. 

But  with  the  rising  wind  and  stars  came 
the  swift  trampling  of  horses'  hoofs  and  the 
flashing  of  lanterns,  and  Doctor  Duchesne 
and  the  master  swept  down  into  the  opening. 


278  CRJES8Y. 

"It  was  here,"  said  the  master  quickly, 
"  but  they  must  have  taken  him  on  to  his 
own  home.  Let  us  follow." 

"  Hold  on  a  moment,"  said  the  doctor,  who 
had  halted  before  the  tree.  "What's  all 
this  ?  Why,  it 's  baby  Filgee  —  by  thunder ! " 

In  another  moment  they  had  both  dis- 
mounted and  were  leaning  over  the  half  con- 
scious child.  Johnny  turned  his  feverishly 
bright  eyes  from  the  lantern  to  the  master 
and  back  again. 

"What  is  it,  Johnny  boy?"  asked  the 
master  tenderly.  "  Were  you  lost  ?  " 

With  a  gleam  of  feverish  exaltation, 
Johnny  rose,  albeit  wanderingly,  to  the  occa- 
sion ! 

"  Hit !  "  he  lisped  feebly,  "  Hit  in  a  doell! 
at  the  age  of  theven." 

"  What  I  "  asked  the  bewildered  master. 

But  Doctor  Duchesne,  after  a  single  swift 
scrutiny  of  the  boy's  face,  had  unearthed  him 
from  his  nest  of  leaves,  laid  him  in  his  lap, 
and  deftly  ripped  away  the  preposterous 
bandage.  "  Hold  the  light  here.  By  Jove ! 
he  tells  the  truth.  Who  did  it,  Johnny  ?  " 

But  Johnny  was  silent.  In  an  interval 
of  feverish  consciousness  and  pain,  his  per- 
ception and  memory  had  been  quickened ; 


CRESS7.  279 

a  suspicion  of  the  real  cause  of  his  disaster 
had  dawned  upon  him  —  but  his  childish  lips 
were  heroically  sealed  The  master  glanced 
appealingly  at  the  Doctor. 

"Take  him  before  you  in  the  saddle  to 
McKinstry's,"  said  the  latter  promptly.  "  I 
can  attend  to  both." 

The  master  lifted  the  boy  tenderly  in  his 
arms.  Johnny,  stimulated  by  the  prospect 
of  a  free  ride,  became  feebly  interested  in 
his  fellow  sufferer. 

"  Did  Theth  hit  him  bad  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Seth?  "  echoed  the  master,  wildly. 

"  Yeth.     I  theed  him  when  he  took  aim." 

The  master  did  not  reply,  but  the  next 
moment  Johnny  felt  himself  clasped  in  his 
arms  in  the  saddle  before  him,  borne  like  a 
whirlwind  in  the  direction  of  the  McKinstry 
ranch. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THEY  found  the  wounded  man  lying  in 
the  front  room  upon  a  rudely  extemporized 
couch  of  bear-skins,  he  having  sternly  de- 
clined the  effeminacy  of  his  wife's  bedroom. 
In  the  possibility  of  a  fatal  termination  to 
his  wound,  and  in  obedience  to  a  grim  fron- 
tier tradition,  he  had  also  refused  to  have  his 
boots  removed  in  order  that  he  might  "  die 
with  them  on,"  as  became  his  ancestral  cus- 
tom. Johnny  was  therefore  speedily  made 
comfortable  in  the  McKinstry  bed,  while  Dr. 
Duchesne  gave  his  whole  attention  to  his 
more  serious  patient.  The  master  glanced 
hurriedly  around  for  Mrs.  McKinstry.  She 
was  not  only  absent  from  the  room,  but  there 
seemed  to  be  no  suggestion  of  her  presence 
in  the  house.  To  his  greater  surprise  the 
hurried  inquiry  that  rose  to  his  lips  was 
checked  by  a  significant  warning  from  the 
attendant.  He  sat  down  beside  the  now 
sleeping  boy,  and  awaited  the  doctor's  return 
with  his  mind  wandering  between  the  condi- 


CRESSY.  281 

tion  of  the  little  sufferer  and  the  singular 
revelation  that  had  momentarily  escaped  his 
childish  lips.  If  Johnny  had  actually  seen 
Seth  fire  at  McKinstry,  the  latter's  myste- 
rious wound  was  accounted  for  —  but  not 
Seth's  motive.  The  act  was  so  utterly  in- 
comprehensible and  inconsistent  with  Seth's 
avowed  hatred  of  the  master  that  the  boy 
must  have  been  delirious. 

He  was  roused  by  the  entrance  of  the 
surgeon.  "  It 's  not  so  bad  as  I  thought," 
he  said,  with  a  reassuring  nod.  "  It  was  a 
mighty  close  shave  between  a  shattered  bone 
and  a  severed  artery,  but  we  've  got  the  ball, 
and  he  '11  pull  through  in  a  week.  By  Jove ! 
though  —  the  old  fire-eater  was  more  con- 
cerned about  finding  the  ball  than  living  or 
dying  !  Go  in  there  —  he  wants  to  see  you. 
Don't  let  him  talk  too  much.  He  's  called 
in  a  lot  of  his  friends  for  some  reason  or 
other  —  and  there  's  a  regular  mass-meeting 
in  there.  Go  in,  and  get  rid  of  'em.  I  '11 
look  after  baby  Filgee  —  though  the  little 
chap  will  be  all  right  again  after  another 
dressing." 

The  master  cast  a  hurried  look  of  relief  at 
the  surgeon,  and  reentered  the  front  room. 
It  was  filled  with  men  whom  the  master  in- 


282  CHESSY. 

stinctively  recognized  as  his  former  adver- 
saries. But  they  gave  way  before  him  with 
a  certain  rude  respect  and  half  abashed  sym- 
pathy as  McKinstry  called  him  to  his  side. 
The  wounded  man  grasped  his  hand.  "  Lift 
me  up  a  bit,"  he  whispered.  The  master 
assisted  him  with  difficulty  to  his  elbow. 

"  Gentlemen ! "  said  McKinstry,  with  a 
characteristic  wave  of  his  crippled  hand 
towards  the  crowd  as  he  laid  the  other  on 
the  master's  shoulder.  "  Ye  heerd  me  talkin' 
a  minit  ago ;  ye  heer  me  now.  This  yer 
young  man  as  we  've  slipped  up  on  and  mes- 
kalkilated  has  told  the  truth  —  every  time  ! 
Ye  ken  tie  to  him  whenever  and  wherever  ye 
want  to.  Ye  ain't  expected  to  feel  ez  I  feel, 
in  course,  but  the  man  ez  goes  back  on  him 
—  quo'lls  with  me.  That 's  all  —  and  thanks 
for  inquiring  friends.  Ye  '11  git  now,  boys, 
and  leave  him  a  minit  with  me." 

The  men  filed  slowly  out,  a  few  linger- 
ing long  enough  to  shake  the  master's  hand 
with  grave  earnestness,  or  half  smiling,  half 
abashed  embarrassment.  The  master  re- 
ceived the  proffered  reconciliation  of  these 
men,  who  but  a  few  hours  before  would  have 
lynched  him  with  equal  sincerity,  with  cold 
bewilderment.  As  the  door  closed  on  the 


CRESST.  283 

last  of  the  party  lie  turned  to  McKinstry. 
The  wounded  man  had  sunk  down  again, 
but  was  regarding  with  drowsy  satisfaction 
a  leaden  bullet  he  was  holding  between  his 
finger  and  thumb. 

"  This  yer  shot,  Mr.  Ford,"  he  said  in  a 
slow  voice,  whose  weakness  was  only  indi- 
cated by  its  extreme  deliberation,  "  never 
kem  from  the  gun  I  gave  ye  —  and  was  never 
fired  by  you."  He  paused  and  then  added 
with  his  old  dull  abstraction,  "  It 's  a  long 
time  since  I  've  run  agin  anythin'  that  makes 
me  feel  more  —  kam." 

In  Mr.  McKinstry's  weak  condition  the 
master  did  not  dare  to  make  Johnny's  reve- 
lation known  to  him,  and  contented  himself 
by  simply  pressing  his  hand,  but  the  next 
moment  the  wounded  man  resumed,  — 

"  That  ball  jest  fits  Seth's  navy  revolver 
—  and  the  hound  hes  made  tracks  outer  the 
country.'* 

"  But  what  motive  could  he  have  in  at- 
tacking you  at  such  a  time  ? "  asked  the 
master. 

"He  reckoned  that  either  I'd  kill  you 
and  so  he  'd  got  shut  of  us  both  in  that  way, 
without  it  being  noticed  ;  or  if  I  missed  you, 
the  others  would  hang  you  —  ez  they  kalki- 


284  CHESS  Y. 

lated  to  —  for  killing  me!  The  idea  kem 
to  him  when  he  overheard  you  hintin'  you 
would  n't  return  my  fire." 

A  shuddering  conviction  that  McKinstry 
had  divined  the  real  truth  passed  over  the 
master.  In  the  impulse  of  the  moment  he 
again  would  have  corroborated  it  by  reveal- 
ing Johnny's  story,  but  a  glance  at  the 
growing  feverishness  of  the  wounded  man 
checked  his  utterance.  "  Don't  talk  of  it 
now,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "  Enough  for  me 
to  know  that  you  acquit  me.  I  am  here 
now  only  to  beg  you  to  compose  yourself 
until  the  doctor  comes  back —  as  you  seemed 
to  be  alone,  and  Mrs.  McKinstry "  —  he 
stopped  in  awkward  embarrassment. 

A  singular  confusion  overspread  the  in- 
valid's face.  "She  hed  steppt  out  afore 
this  happened,  owin'  to  contrairy  opinions 
betwixt  me  and  her.  Ye  mout  hev  noticed, 
Mr.  Ford,  that  gin'rally  she  did  n't  'pear  to 
cotton  to  ye  !  Thar  ain't  a  woman  a  goin' 
ez  is  the  ekal  of  Blair  Rawlins'  darter  in 
nussin'  a  man  and  keeping  him  in  fightin' 
order,  but  in  matters  like  things  that  con- 
sarn  herself  and  Cress,  I  begin  to  think, 
Mr.  Ford,  that  somehow,  she  ain't  exakly  — 
kam !  Bein'  kam  yourself,  ye  '11  put  any 


CRESS Y.  285 

unpleasantness  down  to  that.  Wotever  you 
hear  from  her,  and,  for  the  matter  o'  that, 
from  her  own  darter  too  —  for  I'm  takin' 
back  the  foolishness  I  said  to  ye  over  yon 
about  your  runnin'  off  with  Cress  —  you  '11 
remember,  Mr.  Ford,  it  war  n't  from  no  ill 
feeling  to  you,  in  her  or  Cress  —  but  on'y  a 
want  of  kam!  I  mout  hev  had  my  idees 
about  Cress,  you  mout  hev  had  yours^  and 
that  fool  Dabney  mout  hev  had  his  ;  but  it 
war  n't  the  old  woman's  —  nor  Cressy's  —  it 
war  n't  Blair  Rawlins'  darter's  idea  —  nor 
yet  her  darter's !  And  why  ?  For  want  o' 
kam!  Times  I  reckon  it  was  left  out  o' 
woman's  nater.  And  beiii'  kam  yourself, 
you  understand  it,  and  take  it  all  in." 

The  old  look  of  drowsy  pain  had  settled 
so  strongly  in  his  red  eyes  again  that  the 
master  was  fain  to  put  his  hand  gently  over 
them,  and  with  a  faint  smile  beg  him  to 
compose  himself  to  sleep.  This  he  finally 
did  after  a  whispered  suggestion  that  he 
himself  was  feeling  "  more  kam."  The 
master  sat  for  some  moments  with  his  hand 
upon  the  sleeping  man's  eyes,  and  a  vague 
and  undefinable  sense  of  loneliness  seemed 
to  fall  upon  him  from  the  empty  rafters  of 
the  silent  and  deserted  house.  The  rising 


286  CRESS  Y. 

wind  moaned  fitfully  around  its  bleak  shell 
with  the  despairing  sound  of  far  and  for- 
ever receding  voices.  So  strong  was  the 
impression  that  when  the  doctor  and  Mc- 
Kinstry's  attending  brother  reentered  the 
room,  the  master  still  lingered  beside  the 
bed  with  a  dazed  sensation  of  abandonment 
that  the  doctor's  practical  reassuring  smile 
could  hardly  dispel. 

"He's  doing  splendidly  now,"  he  said, 
listening  to  the  sleeper's  more  regular  res- 
piration :  "  and  I  'd  advise  you  to  go  now, 
Mr.  Ford,  before  he  wakes,  lest  he  might  be 
tempted  to  excite  himself  by  talking  to  you 
again.  He 's  really  quite  out  of  danger 
now.  Good-night !  I  '11  drop  in  on  you  at 
the  hotel  when  I  return." 

The  master,  albeit  still  confused  and  be- 
wildered, felt  his  way  to  the  door  and  out 
into  the  open  night.  The  wind  was  still 
despairingly  wrestling  with  the  tree  -  tops, 
but  the  far  receding  voices  seemed  to  be 
growing  fainter  in  the  distance,  until,  as  he 
passed  on,  they  too  seemed  to  pass  away  for- 
ever. 

Monday  morning  had  come  again,  and 
the  master  was  at  his  desk  in  the  school- 


CRESS  T.  287 

house  early,  with  a  still  damp  and  inky 
copy  of  the  Star  fresh  from  the  press  be- 
fore him.  The  free  breath  of  the  pines  was 
blowing  in  the  window,  and  bringing  to  his 
ears  the  distant  voices  of  his  slowly  gather- 
ing flock,  as  he  read  as  follows :  — 

"  The  perpetrator  of  the  dastardly  out- 
rage at  the  Indian  Spring  Academy  on 
Thursday  last  —  which,  through  unfortunate 
misrepresentation  of  the  facts,  led  to  a  pre- 
mature calling  out  of  several  of  our  most 
public-spirited  citizens,  and  culminated  in  a 
most  regrettable  encounter  between  Mr.  Mc- 
Kinstry  and  the  accomplished  and  estimable 
principal  of  the  school  —  has,  we  regret  to 
say,  escaped  condign  punishment  by  leav- 
ing the  country  with  his  relations.  If,  as  is 
seriously  whispered,  he  was  also  guilty  of  an 
unparalleled  offence  against  a  chivalrous 
code  which  will  exclude  him  in  the  future 
from  ever  seeking  redress  at  the  Court  of 
Honor,  our  citizens  will  be  only  too  glad 
to  get  rid  of  the  contamination  of  being 
obliged  to  arrest  him.  Those  of  our  readers 
who  know  the  high  character  of  the  two 
gentlemen  who  were  thus  forced  into  a  hos- 
tile meeting,  will  not  be  surprised  to  know 
that  the  most  ample  apologies  were  tendered 


on  both  sides,  and  that  the 
Ins  been  thoroughly  restored.  The  bullet 
— which  it  is  said  played  a  highly  impor- 
tant part  in  the  subsequent  explanation, 
proving  to  have  oome  from  a  rtvofcer  fired 
by  some  mtmim  tin  been  extracted  from 
Mr.  McKinstry's  thigh,  and  he  is  doing 
well,  with  every  prospect  of  a  speedy  re- 
covery." 

fr**1^.  albeit  not  uncomplacently,  at  this 
valuable  contribution  to  history  from  an  un- 
fettered press,  his  eye  fell  upon  the  next 
paragraph,  perhaps  not  so  complacently:  — 

"Benjamin  Daubigny,  Esq.,  who  left 
town  for  Sacramento  on  important  busi- 
ness, not  entirely  unconnected  with  his  new 
interests  in  Indian  Springs,  will,  it  is  ru- 
mored, be  shortly  joined  by  his  wife,  who 
has  been  enabled  by  his  recent  good  fortune 
to  leave  her  old  home  in  the  States,  and 
take  her  proper  proud  position  at  his  side. 
Although  personally  unknown  to  Indian 
Springs,  Mrs.  Daubigny  is  spoken  of  as  a 
beautiful  and  singularly  accomplished  wo- 
man, and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  her  hus- 
band's interests  will  compel  them  to  abandon 
Indian  Springs  for  Sacramento  as  a  future 
Mr.  Daubigny  was  accompanied 


CBES8T. 

by  hi*  private  secretary  Rupert,  the  eldest 
son  of  H,  G.  Filgee,  Esq,,  who  ha*  been  a 
promising  graduate  of  the  Indian  Spring 
Academy,  and  offers  a  bright  example  to 
the  youth  of  this  district  We  are  happy 
to  learn  that  hi*  younger  brother  is  recover- 
ing rapidly  from  a  slight  accident  received 
last  week  through  the  incautious  handling 
of  firearms/9 

The  master,  with  his  eyes  upon  the  paper, 
remained  so  long  plunged  in  a  reverie  that 
the  school-room  was  quite  filled  and  his  lit- 
tle flock  was  wonderingly  regarding  him  be- 
fore he  recalled  himself.  He  was  hurriedly 
reaching  his  hand  towards  the  bell  when  he 
was  attracted  by  the  rising  figure  of  Octa- 
via  Dean, 

"Please,  fir,  yon  didn't  ask  if  we  had 
any  news I " 

"True—I  forgot,"  said  the  master  smil- 
ing. "Well,  have  you  anything  to  tell 
us?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Cressy  McKinstry  has  left 
school" 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes,  sir;  she 's  married." 

"  Married,"  repeated  the  master  with  an 
effort,  yet  conscious  of  the  eyes  concentrated 
v.  24  J— Bret  Harte 


290  CRESS  T. 

upon  his  colorless  face.  "Married  —  and 
to  whom?" 

"  To  Joe  Masters,  sir,  at  the  Baptist 
Chapel  at  Big  Bluff,  Sunday,  an'  Marm 
McKinstry  was  thar  with  her." 

There  was  a  momentary  and  breathless 
pause.  Then  the  voices  of  his  little  pupils 
—  those  sage  and  sweet  truants  from  tradi- 
tion, those  gentle  but  relentless  historians 
of  the  future  —  rose  around  him  in  shrill 
chorus :  — 

"  Why,  we  knowed  it  all  along,  sir  !  " 


THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN, 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN      .     .     .  295 

II.  AN  HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG 395 

III.  THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY      .     .     .  425 

IY.  A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT 476 

V.  VIEWS  FROM  A  GERMAN  SPION  .  508 


THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUN- 
TAIN. 

CHAPTEK  I. 

A    CLOUD    ON    THE    MOUNTAIN. 

THEY  lived  on  the  verge  of  a  vast  stony 
level,  upheaved  so  far  above  the  surround- 
ing country  that  its  vague  outlines,  viewed 
from  the  nearest  valley,  seemed  a  mere 
cloud-streak  resting  upon  the  lesser  hills. 
The  rush  and  roar  of  the  turbulent  river 
that  washed  its  eastern  base  were  lost  at 
that  height ;  the  winds  that  strove  with  the 
giant  pines  that  half  way  climbed  its  flanks 
spent  their  fury  below  the  summit ;  for,  at 
variance  with  most  meteorological  specula- 
tion, an  eternal  calm  seemed  to  invest  this 
serene  altitude.  The  few  Alpine  flowers 
seldom  thrilled  their  petals  to  a  passing 
breeze;  rain  and  snow  fell  alike  perpen- 
295 


296     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

dicularly,  heavily,  and  monotonously  over 
the  granite  bowlders  scattered  along  its 
brown  expanse.  Although  by  actual  meas- 
urement an  inconsiderable  elevation  of  the 
Sierran  range,  and  a  mere  shoulder  of  the 
nearest  white-faced  peak  that  glimmered 
in  the  west,  it  seemed  to  lie  so  near  the 
quiet,  passionless  stars,  that  at  night  it 
caught  something  of  their  calm  remote- 
ness. 

The  articulate  utterance  of  such  a  lo- 
cality should  have  been  a  whisper ;  a  laugh 
or  exclamation  was  discordant;  and  the 
ordinary  tones  of  the  human  voice  on  the 
night  of  the  15th  of  May,  1868,  had  a 
grotesque  incongruity. 

In  the  thick  darkness  that  clothed  the 
mountain  that  night,  the  human  figure 
would  have  been  lost,  or  confounded  with 
the  outlines  of  outlying  bowlders,  which  at 
such  times  took  upon  themselves  the  vague 
semblance  of  men  and  animals.  Hence 
the  voices  in  the  following  colloquy  seemed 
the  more  grotesque  and  incongruous  from 
being  the  apparent  expression  of  an  up- 
right monolith,  ten  feet  high,  on  the  right, 
and  another  mass  of  granite,  that,  reclin- 
ing, peeped  over  the  verge. 


A  CLOUD  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.          297 

"Hello!" 

"Hello  yourself!" 

"You're  late." 

"I  lost  the  trail,  and  climbed  up  the 
slide." 

Here  followed  a  stumble,  the  clatter  of 
stones  down  the  mountain-side,  and  an 
oath  so  very  human  and  undignified  that* 
it  at  once  relieved  the  bowlders  of  any 
complicity  of  expression.  The  voices,  too, 
were  close  together  now,  and  unexpectedly 
in  quite  another  locality. 

"Anything  up  ?" 

"Looey  Napoleon's  declared  war  agin 
Germany." 

"Sho-o-o!" 

Notwithstanding  this  exclamation,  the 
interest  of  the  latter  speaker  was  evidently 
only  polite  and  perfunctory.  What,  in- 
deed, were  the  political  convulsions  of  the 
Old  World  to  the  dwellers  on  this  serene, 
isolated  eminence  of  the  New  ? 

"I  reckon  it's  so,"  continued  the  first 
voice.  "French  Pete  and  that  thar  feller 
that  keeps  the  Dutch  grocery  hev  hed  a 
row  over  it ;  emptied  their  six-shooters  into 
each  other.  The  Dutchman's  got  two  balls 
in  his  leg,  and  the  Frenchman's  got  an  on- 


298     THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

nessary  buttonhole  in  his  shirt-buzzum, 
and  hez  caved  in." 

This  concise,  local  corroboration  of  the 
conflict  of  remote  nations,  however  con- 
firmatory, did  not  appear  to  excite  any 
further  interest.  Even  the  last  speaker, 
now  that  he  was  in  this  calm,  dispassion- 
ate atmosphere,  seemed  to  lose  his  own 
concern  in  his  tidings,  and  to  have  aban- 
doned every  thing  of  a  sensational  and 
lower-worldly  character  in  the  pines  below. 
There  were  a  few  moments  of  absolute  si- 
lence, and  then  another  stumble.  But  now 
the  voices  of  both  speakers  were  quite  pa- 
tient and  philosophical. 

"Hold  on,  and  I'll  strike  a  light,"  said 
the  second  speaker.  "I  brought  a  lantern 
along,  but  I  didn't  light  up.  I  kem  out 
afore  sundown,  and  you  know  how  it  allers 
is  up  yer.  I  didn't  want  it,  and  didn't 
keer  to  light  up.  I  forgot  you're  always 
a  little  dazed  and  strange-like  when  you 
first  come  up." 

There  was  a  crackle,  a  flash,  and  pres- 
ently a  steady  glow,  which  the  surrounding 
darkness  seemed  to  resent.  The  faces  of 
the  two  men  thus  revealed  were  singularly 
alike.  The  same  thin,  narrow  outline  of 


A  CLOUD  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.        299 

jaw  and  temple ;  the  same  dark,  grave  eyes ; 
the  same  brown  growth  of  curly  beard  and 
mustache,  which  concealed  the  mouth,  and 
hid  what  might  have  been  any  individual 
idiosyncrasy  of  thought  or  expression, — 
showed  them  to  be  brothers,  or  better 
known  as  the  "Twins  of  Table  Mountain." 
A  certain  animation  in  the  face  of  the  sec- 
ond speaker, — the  first-comer, — a  certain 
light  in  his  eye,  might  have  at  first  dis- 
tinguished him;  but  even  this  faded  out 
in  the  steady  glow  of  the  lantern,  and  had 
no  value  as  a  permanent  distinction,  for, 
by  the  time  they  had  reached  the  western 
verge  of  the  mountain,  the  two  faces  had 
settled  into  a  homogeneous  calmness  and 
melancholy. 

The  vague  horizon  of  darkness,  that  a 
few  feet  from  the  lantern  still  encompassed 
them,  gave  no  indication  of  their  progress, 
until  their  feet  actually  trod  the  rude 
planks  and  thatch  that  formed  the  roof  of 
their  habitation ;  for  their  cabin  half  bur- 
rowed in  the  mountain,  and  half  clung,  like 
a  swallow's  nest,  to  the  side  of  the  deep  de- 
clivity that  terminated  the  northern  limit 
of  the  summit.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
windlass  of  a  shaft,  a  coil  of  rope,  and  a 


800    THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

few  heaps  of  stone  and  gravel,  which  were 
the  only  indications  of  human  labor  in 
that  stony  field,  there  was  nothing  to  in- 
terrupt its  monotonous  dead  level.  And, 
when  they  descended  a  dozen  well-worn 
steps  to  the  door  of  their  cabin,  they  left 
the  summit,  as  before,  lonely,  silent,  mo- 
tionless, its  long  level  uninterrupted,  bask- 
ing in  the  cold  light  of  the  stars. 

The  simile  of  a  "nest"  as  applied  to  the 
cabin  of  the  brothers  was  no  mere  figure 
of  speech  as  the  light  of  the  lantern  first 
flashed  upon  it.  The  narrow  ledge  before 
the  door  was  strewn  with  feathers.  A  sug- 
gestion that  it  might  be  the  home  and 
haunt  of  predatory  birds  was  promptly 
checked  by  the  spectacle  of  the  nailed-up 
carcasses  of  a  dozen  hawks  against  the 
walls,  and  the  outspread  wings  of  an  ex- 
tended eagle  emblazoning  the  gable  above 
the  door,  like  an  armorial  bearing.  With- 
in the  cabin  the  walls  and  chimney-piece 
were  dazzlingly  bedecked  with  the  party- 
colored  wings  of  jays,  yellow-birds,  wood- 
peckers, kingfishers,  and  the  poly-tinted 
wood-duck.  Yet  in  that  dry,  highly-rare- 
fied atmosphere,  there  was  not  the  slightest 
suggestion  of  odor  or  decay. 


A  CLOUD  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.      301 

The  first  speaker  hung  the  lantern  upon 
a  hook  that  dangled  from  the  rafters,  and, 
going  to  the  broad  chimney,  kicked  the 
half-dead  embers  into  a  sudden  resentful 
blaze.  He  then  opened  a  rude  cupboard, 
and,  without  looking  around,  called, 
"Kuth!" 

The  second  speaker  turned  his  head 
from  the  open  doorway  where  he  was 
leaning,  as  if  listening  to  something  in  the 
darkness,  and  answered  abstractedly, — 

"Band!" 

"I  don't  believe  you  have  touched  grub 
to-day  I" 

Ruth  grunted  out  some  indifferent  reply. 

"Thar  hezen't  been  a  slice  cut  off  that 
bacon  since  I  left,"  continued  Band,  bring- 
ing a  side  of  bacon  and  some  biscuits  from 
the  cupboard,  and  applying  himself  to  the 
discussion  of  them  at  the  table.  "You're 
gettin'  off  yer  feet,  Ruth.  What's  up  ?" 

Ruth  replied  by  taking  an  uninvited 
seat  beside  him,  and  resting  his  chin  on 
the  palms  of  his  hands.  He  did  not  eat, 
but  simply  transferred  his  inattention 
from  the  door  to  the  table. 

"You're  workin'  too  many  hours  in  the 
shaft,"  continued  Rand.  "You're  always 


302     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

up  to  some  such  d — n  fool  business  when 
I'm  not  yer." 

"I  dipped  a  little  west  to-day,"  Kuth 
went  on,  without  heeding  the  brotherly 
remonstrance,  "and  struck  quartz  and 
pyrites." 

"Thet's  you! — allers  dippin'  west  or 
east  for  quartz  and  the  color,  instead  of 
keeping  on  plumb  down  to  the  'cement'  I"1 

"We've  been  three  years  digging  for  ce- 
ment," said  Ruth,  more  in  abstraction  than 
in  reproach, — "three  years !" 

"And  we  may  be  three  years  more, — 
may  be  only  three  days.  Why,  you 
couldn't  be  more  impatient  if — if — if  you 
lived  in  a  valley." 

Delivering  this  tremendous  comparison 
as  an  unanswerable  climax,  Rand  applied 
himself  once  more  to  his  repast.  Ruth, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  without  speaking 
or  looking  up,  disengaged  his  hand  from 
under  his  chin,  and  slid  it  along,  palm  up- 
permost, on  the  table  beside  his  brother. 
Thereupon  Rand  slowly  reached  forward 
his  left  hand,  the  right  being  engaged  in 
conveying  victual  to  his  mouth,  and  laid 

i  The  local  name  for  gold-bearing  alluvial  drift,— the  bed 
of  a  prehistoric  river. 


A  CLOUD  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.       303 

it  on  his  brother's  palm.  The  act  was  evi- 
dently an  habitual,  half  mechanical  one; 
for  in  a  few  moments  the  hands  were  as 
gently  disengaged,  without  comment  or 
expression.  At  last  Rand  leaned  back  in 
his  chair,  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork, 
and,  complacently  loosening  the  belt  that 
held  his  revolver,  threw  it  and  the  weapon 
on  his  bed.  Taking  out  his  pipe,  and 
chipping  some  tobacco  on  the  table,  he  said 
carelessly,  "I  came  a  piece  through  the 
woods  with  Mornie  just  now." 

The  face  that  Ruth  turned  upon  his 
brother  was  very  distinct  in  its  expression 
at  that  moment,  and  quite  belied  the  popu- 
lar theory  that  the  twins  could  not  be  told 
apart.  "Thet  gal,"  continued  Rand,  with- 
out looking  up,  "is  either  flighty,  or — or 
suthin',"  he  added  in  vague  disgust,  push- 
ing the  table  from  him  as  if  it  were  the 
lady  in  question.  "Don't  tell  me!" 

Ruth's  eyes  quickly  sought  his  brother's, 
and  were  as  quickly  averted,  as  he  asked 
hurriedly,  "How?" 

"What  gets  me,"  continued  Rand  in  a 
petulant  non  sequitur,  "is  that  you,  my 
own  twin-brother,  never  lets  on  about  her 
comin'  yer,  permiskus  like,  when  I  ain't 


304     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

yer,    and   you   and   her   gallivantin'    and 
promanadin',  and  swoppin'  sentiments  and 


mottoes." 


Buth  tried  to  contradict  his  blushing 
face  with  a  laugh  of  worldly  indifference. 

"She  came  up  yer  on  a  sort  of  pasear." 

"Oh,  yes! — a  short  cut  to  the  creek/' 
interpolated  Eand  satirically. 

"Last  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,"  con- 
tinued Ruth,  with  affected  f orgetf ulness. 

"Oh,  in  course,  Tuesday,  or  Wednesday, 
or  Thursday!  You've  so  many  folks 
climbing  up  this  yer  mountain  to  call  on 
ye,"  continued  the  ironical  Rand,  "that 
you  disremember;  only  you  remembered 
enough  not  to  tell  me.  She  did.  She  took 
me  for  you,  or  pretended  to." 

The  color  dropped  from  Ruth's  cheek. 

"Took  you  for  me  ?"  he  asked,  with  an 
awkward  laugh. 

"Yes,"  sneered  Rand;  "chirped  and 
chattered  away  about  our  picnic,  our  nose- 
gays, and  lord  knows  what!  Said  she'd 
keep  them  blue- jay's  wings,  and  wear  'em 
in  her  hat.  Spouted  poetry,  too, — the 
same  sort  o'  rot  you  get  off  now  and  then." 

Ruth  laughed  again,  but  rather  ostenta- 
tiously and  nervously. 


A  CLOUD  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.      305 

"Euth,  lookyer!" 

Euth  faced  his  brother. 

"What's  your  little  game?  Do  you 
mean  to  say  you  don't  know  what  thet  gal 
is  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  know 
thet  she's  the  laughing-stock  of  the  Ferry ; 
thet  her  father's  a  d — d  old  fool,  and  her 
mother's  a  drunkard  and  worse ;  thet  she's 
got  any  right  to  be  hanging  round  yer? 
You  can't  mean  to  marry  her,  even  if  you 
kalkilate  to  turn  me  out  to  do  it,  for  she 
wouldn't  live  alone  with  ye  up  here. 
'Tain't  her  kind.  And  if  I  thought  you 
was  thinking  of — " 

"What?"  said  Euth,  turning  upon  his 
brother  quickly. 

"Oh,  thet's  right!  Holler;  swear  and 
yell,  and  break  things,  do !  Tear  round !" 
continued  Eand,  kicking  his  boots  off  in  a 
corner,  "just  because  I  ask  you  a  civil  ques- 
tion. That's  brotherly,"  he  added,  jerk- 
ing his  chair  away  against  the  side  of  the 
cabin,  "ain't  it?" 

"She's  not  to  blame  because  her  mother 
drinks,  and  her  father's  a  shyster,"  said 
Euth  earnestly  and  strongly.  "The  men 
who  make  her  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
Ferry  tried  to  make  her  something  worse, 


306     TEE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

and  failed,  and  take  this  sneak's  revenge 
on  her.  'Laughing-stock !'  Yes,  they  knew 
she  could  turn  the  tables  on  them." 

"Of  course;  go  on!  She's  better  than 
me.  I  know  I'm  a  fratricide,  that's  what 
I  am/'  said  Rand,  throwing  himself  on  the 
upper  of  the  two  berths  that  formed  the 
bedstead  of  the  cabin. 

"I've  seen  her  three  times,"  continued 
Ruth. 

"And  you've  known  me  twenty  years," 
interrupted  his  brother. 

Ruth  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked 
towards  the  door. 

"That's  right;  go  on!  Why  don't  you 
get  the  chalk  ?" 

Ruth  made  no  reply.  Rand  descended 
from  the  bed,  and,  taking  a  piece  of  chalk 
from  the  shelf,  drew  a  line  on  the  floor, 
dividing  the  cabin  in  two  equal  parts. 

"You  can  have  the  east  half,"  he  said, 
as  he  climbed  slowly  back  into  bed. 

This  mysterious  rite  was  the  usual  ter- 
mination of  a  quarrel  between  the  twins. 
Each  man  kept  his  half  of  the  cabin  until 
the  feud  was  forgotten.  It  was  the  mark 
of  silence  and  separation,  over  which  no 
words  of  recrimination,  argument,  or  even 


A  CLOUD  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.       307 

explanation,  were  delivered,  until  it  was 
effaced  by  one  or  the  other.  This  was  con- 
sidered equivalent  to  apology  or  reconcilia- 
tion, which  each  were  equally  bound  in 
honor  to  accept. 

It  may  be  remarked  that  the  floor  was 
much  whiter  at  this  line  of  demarcation, 
and  under  the  fresh  chalk-line  appeared  the 
faint  evidences  of  one  recently  effaced. 

Without  apparently  heeding  this  poten- 
tial ceremony,  Ruth  remained  leaning 
against  the  doorway,  looking  upon  the 
night,  the  bulk  of  whose  profundity  and 
blackness  seemed  to  be  gathered  below  him. 
The  vault  above  was  serene  and  tranquil, 
with  a  few  large  far-spaced  stars;  the 
abyss  beneath,  untroubled  by  sight  or 
sound.  Stepping  out  upon  the  ledge,  he 
leaned  far  over  the  shelf  that  sustained 
their  cabin,  and  listened.  A  faint  rhyth- 
mical roll,  rising  and  falling  in  long  undu- 
lations against  the  invisible  horizon,  to  his 
accustomed  ears  told  him  the  wind  was 
blowing  among  the  pines  in  the  valley. 
Yet,  mingling  with  this  familiar  sound,  his 
ear,  now  morbidly  acute,  seemed  to  detect 
a  stranger  inarticulate  murmur,  as  of  con- 
fused and  excited  voices,  swelling  up  from 


808     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  mysterious  depths  to  the  stars  above, 
and  again  swallowed  up  in  the  gulfs  of  si- 
lence below.  He  was  roused  from  a  con- 
sideration of  this  phenomenon  by  a  faint 
glow  towards  the  east,  which  at  last  bright- 
ened, until  the  dark  outline  of  the  distant 
walls  of  the  valley  stood  out  against  the 
sky.  Were  his  other  senses  participating 
in  the  delusion  of  his  ears?  for  with  the 
brightening  light  came  the  faint  odor  of 
burning  timber. 

His  face  grew  anxious  as  he  gazed.  At 
last  he  rose,  and  re-entered  the  cabin.  His 
eyes  fell  upon  the  faint  chalk-mark,  and, 
taking  his  soft  felt  hat  from  his  head,  with 
a  few  practical  sweeps  of  the  brim  he 
brushed  away  the  ominous  record  of  their 
late  estrangement.  Going  to  the  bed 
whereon  Rand  lay  stretched,  open-eyed,  he 
would  have  laid  his  hand  upon  his  arm 
lightly;  but  the  brother's  fingers  sought 
and  clasped  his  own.  "Get  up,"  he  said 
quietly;  "there's  a  strange  fire  in  the 
Canon  head  that  I  can't  make  out." 

Rand  slowly  clambered  from  his  shelf, 
and  hand  in  hand  the  brothers  stood  upon 
the  ledge.  "It's  a  right  smart  chance  be- 
yond the  Ferry,  and  a  piece  beyond  the 


A  CLOUD  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN.      309 

Mill,  too,"  said  Rand,  shading  his  eyes 
with  his  hand,  from  force  of  habit.  "It's 
in  the  woods  where — "  He  would  have 
added  where  he  met  Mornie ;  but  it  was  a 
point  of  honor  with  the  twins,  after  recon- 
ciliation, not  to  allude  to  any  topic  of  their 
recent  disagreement. 

Ruth  dropped  his  brother's  hand.  "It 
doesn't  smell  like  the  woods,"  he  said 
slowly. 

"Smell!"  repeated  Rand  incredulously. 
"Why,  it's  twenty  miles  in  a  bee-line 
yonder.  Smell,  indeed!" 

Ruth  was  silent,  but  presently  fell  to 
listening  again  with  his  former  abstraction. 
"You  don't  hear  anything,  do  you?"  he 
asked  after  a  pause. 

"It's  blowin'  in  the  pines  on  the  river," 
said  Rand  shortly. 

"You  don't  hear  anything  else  ?" 

"No." 

"Nothing  like— like— like— " 

Rand,  who  had  been  listening  with  an 
intensity  that  distorted  the  left  side  of  his 
face,  interrupted  him  impatiently. 

"Like  what?" 

"Like  a  woman  sobbin'  ?" 

"Ruth,"  said  Rand,  suddenly  looking  up 


310     TEE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

in  'his  brother's  face,  "what's  gone  of 
you?" 

Ruth  laughed.  "The  fire's  out,"  he 
said,  abruptly  re-entering  the  cabin.  "I'm 
goin'  to  turn  in." 

Rand,  following  his  brother  half  re- 
proachfully, saw  him  divest  himself  of  his 
clothing,  and  roll  himself  in  the  blankets 
of  his  bed. 

"Good-night,  Eandy !" 

Rand  hesitated.  He  would  have  liked 
to  ask  his  brother  another  question ;  but 
there  was  clearly  nothing  to  be  done  but 
follow  his  example. 

"Good-night,  Ruthy !"  he  said,  and  put 
out  the  light.  As  he  did  so,  the  glow  in 
the  eastern  horizon  faded,  too,  and  dark- 
ness seemed  to  well  up  from  the  depths  be- 
low, and,  flowing  in  the  open  door,  wrapped 
them  in  deeper  slumber. 


CHAPTEK  II. 

THE  CLOUDS   GATHER. 

TWELVE  months  had  elapsed  since  the 
quarrel  and  reconcilation,  during  which  in- 
terval no  reference  was  made  by  either  of 
the  brothers  to  the  cause  which  had  pro- 
voked it.  Rand  was  at  work  in  the  shaft, 
Ruth  having  that  morning  undertaken  the 
replenishment  of  the  larder  with  game 
from  the  wooded  skirt  of  the  mountain. 
Rand  had  taken  advantage  of  his  brother's 
absence  to  "prospect"  in  the  "drift," — a 
proceeding  utterly  at  variance  with  his  pre- 
vious condemnation  of  all  such  speculative 
essay ;  but  Rand,  despite  his  assumption  of 
a  superior  practical  nature,  was  not  above 
certain  local  superstitions.  Having  that 
morning  put  on  his  gray  flannel  shirt 
wrong  side  out, — an  abstraction  recognized 
among  the  miners  as  the  sure  forerunner 
of  divination  and  treasure-discovery, — he 
could  not  forego  that  opportunity  of  try- 
311 


312     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

ing  his  luck,  without  hazarding  a  danger- 
ous example.  He  was  also  conscious  of 
feeling  "chipper," — another  local  expres- 
sion for  buoyancy  of  spirit,  not  common  to 
men  who  work  fifty  feet  below  the  surface, 
without  the  stimulus  of  air  and  sunshine, 
and  not  to  be  overlooked  as  an  important 
factor  in  fortunate  adventure.  Neverthe- 
less, noon  came  without  the  discovery  of 
any  treasure.  He  had  attacked  the  walls 
on  either  side  of  the  lateral  "drift"  skil- 
fully, so  as  to  expose  their  quality  without 
destroying  their  cohesive  integrity,  but  had 
found  nothing.  Once  or  twice,  returning 
to  the  shaft  for  rest  and  air,  its  grim  si- 
lence had  seemed  to  him  pervaded  with 
some  vague  echo  of  cheerful  holiday  voices 
above.  This  set  him  to  thinking  of  his 
brother's  equally  extravagant  fancy  of  the 
wailing  voices  in  the  air  on  the  night  of 
the  fire,  and  of  his  attributing  it  to  a 
lover's  abstraction. 

"I  laid  it  to  his  being  struck  after  that 
gal ;  and  yet,"  Eand  continued  to  himself, 
"here's  me,  who  haven't  been  foolin' 
round  no  gal,  and  dog  my  skin  if  I  didn't 
think  I  heard  one  singin'  up  thar!"  He 
put  his  foot  on  the  lower  round  of  the  lad- 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  813 

der,  paused,  and  slowly  ascended  a  dozen 
steps.  Here  lie  paused  again.  All  at 
once  the  whole  shaft  was  filled  with  the 
musical  vibrations  of  a  woman's  song. 
Seizing  the  rope  that  hung  idly  from  the 
windlass,  he  half  climbed,  half  swung 
himself,  to  the  surface. 

The  voice  was  there;  but  the  sudden 
transition  to  the  dazzling  level  before  him 
at  first  blinded  his  eyes,  so  that  he  took  in 
only  by  degrees  the  unwonted  spectacle  of 
the  singer, — a  pretty  girl,  standing  on  tip- 
toe on  a  bowlder  not  a  dozen  yards  from 
him,  utterly  absorbed  in  tying  a  gayly- 
striped  neckerchief,  evidently  taken  from 
her  own  plump  throat,  to  the  halliards  of  a 
freshly-cut  hickory-pole  newly  reared  as  a 
flag-staff  beside  her.  The  hickory-pole, 
the  halliards,  the  fluttering  scarf,  the 
young  lady  herself,  were  all  glaring  inno- 
vations on  the  familiar  landscape;  but 
Rand,  with  his  hand  still  on  the  rope,  si- 
lently and  demurely  enjoyed  it. 

For  the  better  understanding  of  the  gen- 
eral reader,  who  does  not  live  on  an  iso- 
lated mountain,  it  may  be  observed  that 
the  young  lady's  position  on  the  rock  ex- 
hibited some  study  of  pose,  and  a  certain 


314     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

exaggeration  of  attitude,  that  betrayed  the 
habit  of  an  audience;  also  that  her  voice 
had  an  artificial  accent  that  was  not  wholly 
unconscious,  even  in  this  lofty  solitude. 
Yet  the  very  next  moment,  when  she 
turned,  and  caught  Rand's  eye  fixed  upon 
her,  she  started  naturally,  colored  slightly, 
uttered  that  feminine  adjuration,  "Good 
Lord !  gracious !  goodness  me !"  which  is 
seldom  used  in  reference  to  its  effect  upon 
the  hearer,  and  skipped  instantly  from  the 
bowlder  to  the  ground.  Here,  however, 
she  alighted  in  a  pose,  brought  the  right 
heel  of  her  neatly-fitting  left  boot  closely 
into  the  hollowed  side  of  her  right  instep, 
at  the  same  moment  deftly  caught  her  fly- 
ing skirt,  whipped  it  around  her  ankles, 
and,  slightly  raising  it  behind,  permitted 
the  chaste  display  of  an  inch  or  two  of 
frilled  white  petticoat.  The  most  irrev- 
erent critic  of  the  sex  will,  I  think,  admit 
that  it  has  some  movements  that  are  auto- 
matic. 

"Hope  I  didn't  disturb  ye,"  said  Rand, 
pointing  to  the  flag-staff. 

The  young  lady  slightly  turned  her 
head.  "No,"  she  said;  "but  I  didn't 
know  anybody  was  here,  of  course.  Our 


THE   CLOUDS  GATHER.  315 

party" — she  emphasized  the  word,  and  ac- 
companied it  with  a  look  toward  the 
further  extremity  of  the  plateau,  to  show 
she  was  not  alone — "our  party  climbed 
this  ridge,  and  put  up  this  pole  as  a  sign 
to  show  they  did  it"  The  ridiculous  self- 
complacency  of  this  record  in  the  face  of 
a  man  who  was  evidently  a  dweller  on  the 
mountain  apparently  struck  her  for  the 
first  time.  "We  didn't  know,"  she  stam- 
mered, looking  at  the  shaft  from  which 
Eand  had  emerged,  "that— that— "  She 
stopped,  and,  glancing  again  towards  the 
distant  range  where  her  friends  had  disap- 
peared, began  to  edge  away. 

"They  can't  be  far  off,"  interposed 
Rand  quietly,  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world  for  the  lady  to  be  there. 
"Table  Mountain  ain't  as  big  as  all  that. 
Don't  you  be  scared!  So  you  thought 
nobody  lived  up  here  ?" 

She  turned  upon  him  a  pair  of  honest 
hazel  eyes,  which  not  only  contradicted  the 
somewhat  meretricious  smartness  of  her 
dress,  but  was  utterly  inconsistent  with  the 
palpable  artificial  color  of  her  hair, — an 
obvious  imitation  of  a  certain  popular 
fashion  then  known  in  artistic  circles  as 


316     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

the  "British  Blonde," — and  began  to  os- 
tentatiously resume  a  pair  of  lemon-colored 
kid  gloves.  Having,  as  it  were,  thus  indi- 
cated her  standing  and  respectability,  and 
put  an  immeasurable  distance  between  her- 
self and  her  bold  interlocutor,  she  said  im- 
pressively, "We  evidently  made  a  mistake : 
I  will  rejoin  our  party,  who  will,  of  course, 
apologize." 

"What's  your  hurry?"  said  the  imper- 
turbable Eand,  disengaging  himself  from 
the  rope,  and  walking  towards  her.  "As 
long  as  you're  up  here,  you  might  stop  a 
spell." 

"I  have  no  wish  to  intrude ;  that  is,  our 
party  certainly  has  not,"  continued  the 
young  lady,  pulling  the  tight  gloves,  and 
smoothing  the  plump,  almost  bursting 
fingers,  with  an  affectation  of  fashionable 
ease. 

"Oh!  I  haven't  any  thing  to  do  just 
now,"  said  Eand,  "and  it's  about  grub 
time,  I  reckon.  Yes,  I  live  here,  Euth 
and  me, — right  here." 

The  young  woman  glanced  at  the  shaft. 

"No,  not  down  there,"  said  Eand,  fol- 
lowing her  eye,  with  a  laugh.  "Come 
here,  and  I'll  ehow  you." 


THE  CLOUDS   GATHER.  317 

A  strong  desire  to  keep  up  an  appear- 
ance of  genteel  reserve,  and  an  equally 
strong  inclination  to  enjoy  the  adventurous 
company  of  this  good-looking,  hearty 
young  fellow,  made  her  hesitate.  Per- 
haps she  regretted  having  undertaken  a 
role  of  such  dignity  at  the  beginning:  she 
could  have  been  so  perfectly  natural  with 
this  perfectly  natural  man,  whereas  any 
relaxation  now  might  increase  his  famili- 
arity. And  yet  she  was  not  without  a 
vague  suspicion  that  her  dignity  and  her 
gloves  were  alike  thrown  away  on  him, — a 
fact  made  the  more  evident  when  Rand 
stepped  to  her  side,  and,  without  any  ap- 
parent consciousness  of  disrespect  or  gal- 
lantry, laid  his  large  hand,  half  persua- 
sively, half  fraternally,  upon  her  shoulder, 
and  said,  "Oh,  come  along,  do !" 

The  simple  act  either  exceeded  the  limits 
of  her  forbearance,  or  decided  the  course 
of  her  subsequent  behavior.  She  instantly 
stepped  back  a  single  pace,  and  drew  her 
left  foot  slowly  and  deliberately  after  her ; 
then  she  fixed  her  eyes  and  uplifted  eye- 
brows upon  the  daring  hand,  and,  taking 
it  by  the  ends  of  her  thumb  and  forefinger, 
lifted  it,  and  dropped  it  in  mid-air.  She 


318     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

then  folded  her  arms.  It  was  the  indig- 
nant gesture  with  which  "Alice,"  the  Pride 
of  Dumballin  Village,  received  the  loath- 
some advances  of  the  bloated  aristocrat,  Sir 
Parkyns  Parkyn,  and  had  at  Marysville,  a 
few  nights  before,  brought  down  the  house. 

This  effect  was,  I  think,  however,  lost 
upon  Rand.  The  slight  color  that  rose  to 
his  cheek  as  he  looked  down  upon  his  clay- 
soiled  hands  was  due  to  the  belief  that  he 
had  really  contaminated  her  outward  su- 
perfine person.  But  his  color  quickly 
passed:  his  frank,  boyish  smile  returned, 
as  he  said,  "It'll  rub  off.  Lord,  don't  mind 
that !  Thar,  now — come  on !" 

The  young  woman  bit  her  lip.  Then 
nature  triumphed;  and  she  laughed,  al- 
though a  little  scornfully.  And  then  Prov- 
idence assisted  her  with  the  sudden  pre- 
sentation of  two  figures,  a  man  and 
woman,  slowly  climbing  up  over  the  moun- 
tain verge,  not  far  from  them.  With  a 
cry  of  "There's  Sol,  now!"  she  forgot  her 
dignity  and  her  confusion,  and  ran  towards 
them. 

Rand  stood  looking  after  her  neat  figure, 
less  concerned  in  the  advent  of  the  strangers 
than  in  her  sudden  caprice.  He  was  not 


THE   CLOUDS   GATHER.  319 

so  young  and  inexperienced  but  that  he 
noted  certain  ambiguities  in  her  dress  and 
manner :  he  was  by  no  means  impressed  by 
her  dignity.  But  he  could  not  help  watch- 
ing her  as  she  appeared  to  be  volubly  re- 
counting her  late  interview  to  her  com- 
panions ;  and,  still  unconscious  of  any  im- 
propriety or  obtrusiveness,  he  lounged 
down  lazily  towards  her.  Her  humor  had 
evidently  changed ;  for  she  turned  an  hon- 
est, pleased  face  upon  him,  as  she  girlishly 
attempted  to  drag  the  strangers  forward. 
The  man  was  plump  and  short;  unlike 
the  natives  of  the  locality,  he  was  closely 
cropped  and  shaven,  as  if  to  keep  down  the 
strong  blue-blackness  of  his  beard  and  hair, 
which  nevertheless  asserted  itself  over  his 
round  cheeks  and  upper  lip  like  a  tattooing 
of  Indian  ink.  The  woman  at  his  side 
was  reserved  and  indistinctive,  with  that 
appearance  of  being  an  unenthusiastic  fam- 
ily servant  peculiar  to  some  men's  wives. 
When  Eand  was  within  a  few  feet  of  him, 
he  started,  struck  a  theatrical  attitude, 
and,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  cried, 
"What,  do  me  eyes  deceive  me!"  burst 
into  a  hearty  laugh,  darted  forward,  seized 
Rand's  hand,  and  shook  it  briskly. 


320     THE   TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

"Pinkney,  Pinkney,  my  boy!  how  are 
you  ?  And  this  is  your  little  'prop'  ?  your 
quarter-section,  your  country-seat,  that 
we've  been  trespassing  on,  eh  ?  A  nice  lit- 
tle spot,  cool,  sequestered,  remote, — a  trifle 
unimproved;  carriage-road  as  yet  unfin- 
ished. Ha,  ha !  But  to  think  of  our  mak- 
ing a  discovery  of  this  inaccessible  moun- 
tain, climbing  it,  sir,  for  two  mortal  hours, 
christening  it  'Sol's  Peak,'  getting  up  a 
flag-pole,  unfurling  our  standard  to  the 
breeze,  sir,  and  then,  by  Gad,  winding  up 
by  finding  Pinkney,  the  festive  Pinkney, 
living  on  it  at  home !" 

Completely  surprised,  but  still  perfectly 
good-humored,  Rand  shook  the  stranger's 
right  hand  warmly,  and  received  on  his 
broad  shoulders  a  welcoming  thwack  from 
the  left,  without  question.  "She  don't 
mind  her  friends  making  free  with  me  evi- 
dently," said  Rand  to  himself,  as  he  tried 
to  suggest  that  fact  to  the  young  lady  in 
a  meaning  glance. 

The  stranger  noted  his  glance,  and  sud- 
denly passed  his  hand  thoughtfully  over  his 
shaven  cheeks.  "No,"  he  said  —  "yes, 
surely,  I  forget — yes,  I  see ;  of  course  you 
don'!  Rosy,"  turning  to  his  wife,  "of 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  321 

course  Pinkney  doesn't  know  Phemie, 
eh?" 

"No,  nor  me  either,  Sol,"  said  that  lady 
warningly. 

"Certainly!"  continued  Sol.  "It's  his 
misfortune.  You  weren't  with  me  at  Gold 
Hill. — Allow  me,"  he  said,  turning  to 
Rand,  "to  present  Mrs.  Sol  Saunders,  wife 
of  the  undersigned,  and  Miss  Euphemia 
Neville,  otherwise  known  as  the  'Marys- 
ville  Pet/  the  best  variety  actress  known 
on  the  provincial  boards.  Played  Ophelia 
at  Marysville,  Friday;  domestic  drama  at 
Gold  Hill,  Saturday;  Sunday  night,  four 
songs  in  character,  different  dress  each 
time,  and  a  clog-dance.  The  best  clog- 
dance  on  the  Pacific  Slope,"  he  added  in  a 
stage  aside.  "The  minstrels  are  crazy  to 
get  her  in  'Frisco.  But  money  can't  buy 
her — prefers  the  legitimate  drama  to  this 
sort  of  thing."  Here  he  took  a  few  steps  of 
a  jig,  to  which  the  "Marysville  Pet"  beat 
time  with  her  feet,  and  concluded  with  a 
laugh  and  a  wink — the  combined  expres- 
sion of  an  artist's  admiration  for  her  abil- 
ity, and  a  man  of  the  world's  scepticism 
of  feminine  ambition. 

Miss  Euphemia  responded  to  the  formal 


322     TEE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

introduction  by  extending  her  hand  frankly 
with  a  re-assuring  smile  to  Rand,  and  an 
utter  obliviousness  of  her  former  hauteur. 
Rand  shook  it  warmly,  and  then  dropped 
carelessly  on  a  rock  beside  them. 

"And  you  never  told  me  you  lived  up 
here  in  the  attic,  you  rascal!"  continued 
Sol  with  a  laugh. 

"No,"  replied  Rand  simply.  "How 
could  I?  I  never  saw  you  before,  that  I 
remember;" 

Miss  Euphemia  stared  at  Sol.  Mrs.  Sol 
looked  up  in  her  lord's  face,  and  folded 
her  arms  in  a  resigned  expression,  Sol 
rose  to  his  feet  again,  and  shaded  his 
eyes  with  hk  hand,  but  this  time  quite 
seriously,  and  gazed  at  Rand's  smiling 
face. 

"Good  Lord !  Do  you  mean  to  say  your 
name  isn't  Pinkney?"  he  asked,  with  a 
half  embarrassed  laugh. 

"It  is  Pinkney,"  said  Rand;  "but  I 
never  met  you  before." 

"Didn't  you  come  to  see  a  young  lady 
that  joined  my  troupe  at  Gold  Hill  last 
month,  and  say  you'd  meet  me  at  Keeler's 
Ferry  in  a  day  or  two  ?" 

said  Rand,  with  a  good-bu- 


THE   CLOUDS  GATHER.  323 

mored  laugh.  "I  haven't  left  this  moun- 
tain for  two  months."  •: >.-••• 

He  might  have  added  more ;  but  his  at- 
tention was  directed  to  Miss  Euphemia, 
who  during  this  short  dialogue,  having 
stuffed  alternately  her  handkerchief,  the 
corner  of  her  mantle,  and  her  gloves,  into 
her  mouth,  restrained  herself  no  longer, 
but  gave  way  to  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
laughter.  "O  Sol!"  she  gasped  explana- 
torily, as  she  threw  herself  alternately 
against  him,  Mrs.  Sol,  and  a  bowlder, 
"you'll  kill  me  yet!  O  Lord!  first  we 
take  possession  of  this  man's  property,  then 
we  claim  him."  The  contemplation  of  this 
humorous  climax  affected  her  so  that  she 
was  fain  at  last  to  walk  away,  and  confide 
the  rest  of  her  speech  to  space. 

Sol  joined  in  the  laugh  until  his  wife 
plucked  his  sleeve,  and  whispered  some- 
thing in  his  ear.  In  an  instant  his  face 
became  at  once  mysterious  and  demure. 
"I  owe  you  an  apology,"  he  said,  turning 
to  Rand,  but  in  a  voice  ostentatiously 
pitched  high  enough  for  Miss  Euphemia  to 
overhear:  "I  see  I  have  made  a  mistake. 
A  resemblance — only  a  mere  resemblance, 
as  I  look  at  you  now — led  me  astray.  Of 
v.  24  K— Bret  Harte 


324     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

course  you  don't  know  any  young  lady  in 
the  profession  ?" 

"Of  course  he  doesn't,  Sol,"  said  Miss 
Euphemia.  "I  could  have  told  you  that. 
He  didn't  even  know  me !" 

The  voice  and  mock-heroic  attitude  of 
the  speaker  was  enough  to  relieve  the  gen- 
eral embarrassment  with  a  laugh.  Hand, 
now  pleasantly  conscious  of  only  Miss 
Euphemia's  presence,  again  offered  the  hos- 
pitality of  his  cabin,  with  the  polite  recog- 
nition of  her  friends  in  the  sentence,  "and 
you  might  as  well  come  along  too." 

"But  won't  we  incommode  the  lady  of 
the  house  ?"  said  Mrs.  Sol  politely. 

"What  lady  of  the  house"  ?  said  Band 
almost  angrily. 

"Why,  Euth,  you  know!" 

It  was  Eand's  turn  to  become  hilarious. 
"Euth,"  he  said,  "is  short  for  Eutherford, 
my  brother."  His  laugh,  however,  was 
echoed  only  by  Euphemia. 

"Then  you  have  a  brother?"  said  Mrs. 
Sol  benignly. 

"Yes,"  said  Eand:  "he  will  be  here 
soon."  A  sudden  thought  dropped  the 
color  from  his  cheek.  "Look  here,"  he 
said,  turning  impulsively  upon  Sol.  "I 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  825 

have  a  brother,  a  twin-brother.  It  couldn't 
be  Mm — " 

Sol  was  conscious  of  a  significant  femi- 
nine pressure  on  his  right  arm.  He  was 
equal  to  the  emergency.  "I  think  not,"  he 
said  dubiously,  "unless  your  brother's  hair 
is  much  darker  than  yours.  Yes!  now  I 
look  at  you,  yours  is  brown.  He  has  a 
mole  on  his  right  cheek  hasn't  he?" 

The  red  came  quickly  back  to  Rand's 
boyish  face.  He  laughed.  "JSTo,  sir:  my 
brother's  hair  is,  if  any  thing,  a  shade 
lighter  than  mine,  and  nary  mole.  Come 
along!" 

And  leading  the  way,  Rand  disclosed 
the  narrow  steps  winding  down  to  the  shelf 
on  which  the  cabin  hung.  "Be  careful," 
said  Rand,  taking  the  now  unresisting 
hand  of  the  "Marysville  Pet"  as  they  de- 
scended: ua  step  that  way,  and  down  you 
go  two  thousand  feet  on  the  top  of  a  pine- 
tree." 

But  the  girl's  slight  cry  of  alarm  was 
presently  changed  to  one  of  unaffected 
pleasure  as  they  stood  on  the  rocky  plat- 
form. "It  isn't  a  house:  it's  'a  nest, 
and  the  loveliest !"  said  Euphemia  breath- 
lessly. 


326     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

"It's  a  scene,  a  perfect  scene,  sir !"  said 
Sol,  enraptured.  "I  shall  take  the  liberty 
of  bringing  my  scene-painter  to  sketch  it 
some  day.  It  would  do  for  'The  Moun- 
taineer's Bride'  superbly,  or,"  continued 
the  little  man,  warming  through  the  blue- 
black  border  of  his  face  with  professional 
enthusiasm,  "it's  enough  to  make  a  play 
itself.  'The  Cot  on  the  Crags.'  Last 
scene  —  moonlight  —  the  struggle  on  the 
ledge !  The  Lady  of  the  Crags  throws 
herself  from  the  beetling  heights !  —  A 
shriek  from  the  depths — a  woman's  wail !" 

"Dry  up !"  sharply  interrupted  Rand,  to 
whom  this  speech  recalled  his  brother's 
half-forgotten  strangeness.  "Look  at  the 
prospect." 

In  the  full  noon  of  a  cloudless  day,  be- 
neath them  a  tumultuous  sea  of  pines 
surged,  heaved,  rode  in  giant  crests, 
stretched  and  lost  itself  in  the  ghostly, 
snow-peaked  horizon.  The  thronging 
woods  choked  every  defile,  swept  every 
crest,  filled  every  valley  with  its  dark- 
green  tilting  spears,  and  left  only  Table 
Mountain  sunlit  and  bare.  Here  .and 
there  were  profound  olive  depths,  over 
which  the  gray  hawk  hung  lazily,  and  into 


TEE   CLOUDS   GATHER.  327 

which  blue  jays  dipped.  A  faint,  dull  yel- 
lowish streak  marked  an  occasional  water- 
course ;  a  deeper  reddish  ribbon,  the  moun- 
tain road  and  its  overhanging  murky  cloud 
of  dust. 

"Is  it  quite  safe  here  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Sol, 
eying  the  little  cabin.  "I  mean  from 
storms  ?" 

"It  never  blows  up  here,"  replied  Rand, 
"and  nothing  happens." 

"It  must  be  lovely,"  said  Euphemia, 
clasping  her  hands. 

"It  is  that/7  said  Rand  proudly.  "It's 
four  years  since  Ruth  and  I  took  up  this 
yer  claim,  and  raised  this  shanty.  In 
that  four  years  we  haven't  left  it  alone  a 
night,  or  cared  to.  It's  only  big  enough 
for  two,  and  them  two  must  be  brothers. 
It  wouldn't  do  for  mere  pardners  to  live 
here  alone,  —  they  couldn't  do  it.  It 
wouldn't  be  exactly  the  thing  for  man  and 
wife  to  shut  themselves  up  here  alone. 
But  Ruth  and  me  know  each  other's  ways, 
and  here  we'll  stay  until  we've  made  a 
pile.  We  sometimes — one  of  us — takes  a 
pasear  to  the  Ferry  to  buy  provisions ;  but 
we're  glad  to  crawl  up  to  the  back  of  old 
'Table'  at  night." 


328     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

"You're  quite  out  of  the  world  here, 
then  ?"  suggested  Mrs.  Sol. 

"That's  it,  just  it  I  We're  out  of  the 
world, — out  of  rows,  out  of  liquor,  out  of 
cards,  out  of  bad  company,  out  of  tempta- 
tion. Cussedness  and  foolishness  hez  got 
to  follow  us  up  here  to  find  us,  and  there's 
too  many  ready  to  climb  down  to  them 
things  to  tempt  'em  to  come  up  to  us." 

There  was  a  little  boyish  conceit  in  his 
tone,  as  he  stood  there,  not  altogether  un- 
becoming his  fresh  color  and  simplicity. 
Yet,  when  his  eyes  met  those  of  Miss 
Euphemia,  he  colored,  he  hardly  knew 
why,  and  the  young  lady  herself  blushed 
rosily. 

When  the  neat  cabin,  with  its  decorated 
walls,  and  squirrel  and  wild-cat  skins,  was 
duly  admired,  the  luncheon-basket  of  the 
Saunders  party  was  re-enforced  by  pro- 
visions from  Rand's  larder,  and  spread 
upon  the  ledge;  the  dimensions  of  the 
cabin  not  admitting  four.  Under  the  po- 
tent influence  of  a  bottle,  Sol  became  hi- 
larious and  professional.  The  "Pet"  was 
induced  to  favor  the  company  with  a  reci- 
tation, and,  under  the  plea  of  teaching 
Rand,  to  perform  the  clog-dance  with  both 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  329 

gentlemen.  Then  there  was  an  interval, 
in  which  Rand  and  Euphemia  wandered  a 
little  way  down  the  mountain-side  to 
gather  laurel,  leaving  Mr.  Sol  to  his  siesta 
on  a  rock,  and  Mrs.  Sol  to  take  some  knit- 
ting from  the  basket,  and  sit  beside  him. 

When  Eand  and  his  companion  had  dis- 
appeared, Mrs.  Sol  nudged  her  sleeping 
partner.  "Do  you  think  that  was  the 
brother?" 

Sol  yawned.  "Sure  of  it.  They're  as 
like  as  two  peas,  in  looks. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  him  so,  then  ?" 

"Will  you  tell  me,  my  dear,  why  you 
stopped  me  when  I  began  ?" 

"Because  something  was  said  about  Ruth 
being  here;  and  I  supposed  Ruth  was  a 
woman,  and  perhaps  Pinkney's  wife,  and 
knew  you'd  be  putting  your  foot  in  it  by 
talking  of  that  other  woman.  I  supposed 
it  was  for  fear  of  that  he  denied  knowing 
you." 

"Well,  when  he — this  Rand — told  me  he 
had  a  twin-brother,  he  looked  so  frightened 
that  I  knew  he  knew  nothing  of  his 
brother's  doings  with  that  woman,  and  I 
threw  him  off  the  scent.  He's  a  good  fel- 
low, but  awfully  green,  and  I  didn't  want 


330     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

to  worry  him  with  tales.  I  like  him,  and 
I  think  Phemie  does  too." 

"Nonsense!  He's  a  conceited  prig! 
Did  you  hear  his  sermon  on  the  world 
and  its  temptations  ?  I  wonder  if  he 
thought  temptation  had  come  up  to  him 
in  the  person  of  us  professionals  out 
on  a  picnic.  I  think  it  was  positively 
rude." 

"My  dear  woman,  you're  always  seeing 
slights  and  insults.  I  tell  you  he's  taken  a 
shine  to  Phemie;  and  he's  as  good  as  four 
seats  and  a  bouquet  to  that  child  next  Wed- 
nesday evening,  to  say  nothing  of  the  eclat 
of  getting  this  St.  Simeon — what  do  you 
call  him  ?— Stalactites  ?" 

"Stylites,"  suggested  Mrs.  Sol. 

"Stylites,  off  from  his  pillar  here.  I'll 
have  a  paragraph  in  the  paper,  that  the 
hermit  crahs  of  Table  Mountain — " 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Sol!" 

"The  hermit  twins  of  Table  Mountain 
bespoke  the  chaste  performance." 

"One  of  them  being  the  protector  of  the 
well-known  Mornie  Nixon,"  responded 
Mrs.  Sol,  viciously  accenting  the  name 
with  her  knitting-needles. 

"Rosy,   you're   unjust.     You're   preju- 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  331 

diced  by  the  reports  of  the  town.  Mr. 
Pinkney's  interest  in  her  may  be  a  purely 
artistic  one,  although  mistaken.  She'll 
never  make  a  good  variety-actress:  she's 
too  heavy.  And  the  boys  don't  give  her  a 
fair  show.  No  woman  can  make  a  debut 
in  my  version  of  'Somnambula,'  and  have 
the  front  row  in  the  pit  say  to  her  in  the 
sleep-walking  scene,  'You're  out  rather 
late,  Mornie.  Kinder  forgot  to  put  on 
your  things,  didn't  you?  Mother  sick,  I 
suppose,  and  you're  goin'  for  more  gin  ? 
Hurry  along,  or  you'll  ketch  it  when  ye 
get  home.'  Why,  you  couldn't  do  it  your- 
self, Rosy!" 

To  which  Mrs.  Sol's  illogical  climax 
was,  that,  "bad  as  Eutherford  might  be, 
this  Sunday-school  superintendent,  Rand, 
was  worse." 

Rand  and  his  companion  returned  late, 
but  in  high  spirits.  There  was  an  un- 
necessary effusiveness  in  the  way  in  which 
Euphemia  kissed  Mrs.  Sol,  —  the  one 
woman  present,  who  understood,  and  was 
to  be  propitiated, — which  did  not  tend  to 
increase  Mrs.  Sol's  good  humor.  She  had 
her  basket  packed  all  ready  for  departure ; 
and  even  the  earnest  solicitation  of  Rand, 


332     THE   TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

that  they  would  defer  their  going  until 
sunset,  produced  no  effect. 

"Mr.  Rand — Mr.  Pinkney,  I  mean — 
says  the  sunsets  here  are  so  lovely," 
pleaded  Euphemia. 

"There  is  a  rehearsal  at  seven  o'clock, 
and  we  have  no  time  to  lose,"  said  Mrs. 
Sol  significantly. 

"I  forgot  to  say,"  said  the  "Marysville 
Pet"  timidly,  glancing  at  Mrs.  Sol,  "that 
Mr.  Rand  says  he  will  bring  his  brother  on 
Wednesday  night,  and  wants  four  seats  in 
front,  so  as  not  to  be  crowded." 

Sol  shook  the  young  man's  hand  warmly. 
"You'll  not  regret  it,  sir :  it's  a  surprising, 
a  remarkable  performance." 

"I'd  like  to  go  a  piece  down  the  moun- 
tain with  you,"  said  Rand,  with  evident 
sincerity,  looking  at  Miss  Euphemia ;  "but 
Ruth  isn't  here  yet,  and  we  make  a  rule 
never  to  leave  the  place  alone.  I'll  show 
you  the  slide:  it's  the  quickest  way  to  go 
down.  If  you  meet  any  one  who  looks 
like  me,  and  talks  like  me,  call  him  'Ruth,' 
and  tell  him  I'm  waitin'  for  him  yer." 

Miss  Phemia,  the  last  to  go,  standing  on 
the  verge  of  the  declivity,  here  remarked, 
with  a  dangerous  smile,  that,  if  she  met 


TEE  CLOUDS   GATHER.  833 

any  one  who  bore  that  resemblance,  she 
might  be  tempted  to  Jkeep  him  with  her, — a 
playfulness  that  brought  the  ready  color  to 
Rand's  cheek.  When  she  added  to  this  the 
greater  audacity  of  kissing  her  hand  to 
him,  the  young  hermit  actually  turned 
away  in  sheer  embarrassment.  When  he 
looked  around  again,  she  was  gone,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  his  experience  the 
mountain  seemed  barren  and  lonely. 

The  too  sympathetic  reader  who  would 
rashly  deduce  from  this  any  newly 
awakened  sentiment  in  the  virgin  heart  of 
Rand  would  quite  misapprehend  that  pe- 
culiar young  man.  That  singular  mix- 
ture of  boyish  inexperience  and  mature 
doubt  and  disbelief,  which  was  partly  the 
result  of  his  temperament,  and  partly  of 
his  cloistered  life  on  the  mountain,  made 
him  regard  his  late  companions,  now  that 
they  were  gone,  and  his  intimacy  with 
them,  with  remorseful  distrust.  The 
mountain  was  barren  and  lonely,  because  it 
was  no  longer  his.  It  had  become  a  part 
of  the  great  world,  which  four  years  ago 
he  and  his  brother  had  put  aside,  and  in 
which,  as  two  self-devoted  men,  they 
walked  alone.  More  than  that,  he  be- 


334     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

lieved  he  had  acquired  some  understanding 
of  the  temptations  that  assailed  his  brother, 
and  the  poor  little  vanities  of  the  "Marys- 
ville  Pet"  were  transformed  into  the  bland- 
ishments of  a  Circe.  Hand,  who  would 
have  succumbed  to  a  wicked,  superior 
woman,  believed  he  was  a  saint  in  with- 
standing the  foolish  weakness  of  a  simple 
one. 

He  did  not  resume  his  work  that  day. 
He  paced  the  mountain,  anxiously  await- 
ing his  brother's  return,  and  eager  to  re- 
late his  experiences.  He  would  go  with 
him  to  the  dramatic  entertainment;  from 
his  example  and  wisdom,  Ruth  should 
learn  how  easily  temptation  might  be  over- 
come. But,  first  of  all,  there  should  be 
the  fullest  exchange  of  confidences  and 
explanations.  The  old  rule  should  be 
rescinded  for  once,  the  old  discussion  in 
regard  to  Mornie  re-opened,  and  Rand, 
having  convinced  his  brother  of  error, 
would  generously  extend  his  forgiveness. 

The  sun  sank  redly.  Lingering  long 
upon  the  ledge  before  their  cabin,  it  at  last 
slipped  away  almost  imperceptibly,  leaving 
Rand  still  wrapped  in  revery.  Darkness, 


TEE   CLOUDS   GATHER.  335 

the  smoke  of  distant  fires  in  the  woods, 
and  the  faint  evening  incense  of  the  pines, 
crept  slowly  up ;  but  Ruth  came  not.  The 
moon  rose,  a  silver  gleam  on  the  farther 
ridge;  and  Rand,  becoming  uneasy  at  hfl 
brother's  prolonged  absence,  resolved  to 
break  another  custom,  and  leave  the  sum- 
mit, to  seek  him  on  the  trail.  He  buckled 
on  his  revolvers,  seized  his  gun,  when  a 
cry  from  the  depths  arrested  him.  He 
leaned  over  the  ledge,  and  listened.  Again 
the  cry  arose,  and  this  time  more  distinctly. 
He  held  his  breath:  the  blood  settled 
around  his  heart  in  superstitious  terror. 
It  was  the  wailing  voice  of  a  woman. 

"Ruth,  Ruth!  for  God's  sake  come  and 
help  me !" 

The  blood  flew  back  hotly  to  Rand's 
cheek.  It  was  Mornie's  voice.  By  lean- 
ing over  the  ledge,  he  could  distinguish 
something  moving  along  the  almost  pre- 
cipitous face  of  the  cliff,  where  an  aban- 
doned trail,  long  since  broken  off  and  dis- 
rupted by  the  fall  of  a  portion  of  the  ledge, 
stopped  abruptly  a  hundred  feet  below 
him.  Rand  knew  the  trail,  a  dangerous 
one  always:  in  its  present  condition  a 
single  mis-step  would  be  fatal.  ,Would 


836     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

she  make  that  mis-step?  He  shook  off  a 
horrible  temptation  that  seemed  to  be  seal- 
ing his  lips,  and  paralyzing  his  limbs,  and 
almost  screamed  to  her,  "Drop  on  your 
face,  hang  on  to  the  chaparral,  and  don't 
move !" 

In  another  instant,  with  a  coil  of  rope 
around  his  arm,  he  was  dashing  down 
the  almost  perpendicular  "slide."  When 
he  had  nearly  reached  the  level  of  the 
abandoned  trail,  he  fastened  one  end  of 
the  rope  to  a  jutting  splinter  of  granite, 
and  began  to  "lay  out,"  and  work  his  way 
laterally  along  the  face  of  the  mountain. 
Presently  he  struck  the  regular  trail  at  the 
point  from  which  the  woman  must  have 
diverged. 

"It  is  Band,"  she  said,  without  lifting 
her  head. 

"It  is,"  replied  Rand  coldly.  "Pass  the 
rope  under  your  arms,  and  I'll  get  you  back 
to  the  trail." 

"Where  is  Ruth  ?"  she  demanded  again, 
without  moving.  She  was  trembling,  but 
with  excitement  rather  than  fear. 

"I  don't  know,"  returned  Rand  impa- 
tiently. "Come!  the  ledge  is  already 
crumbling  beneath  our  feet" 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  337 

"Let  it  crumble  I"  said  the  woman  pas- 
sionately. 

Rand  surveyed  her  with  profound  dis- 
gust, then  passed  the  rope  around  her 
waist,  and  half  lifted,  half  swung  her  from 
her  feet.  In  a  few  moments  she  began  to 
mechanically  help  herself,  and  permitted 
him  to  guide  her  to  a  place  of  safety. 
That  reached,  she  sank  down  again. 

The  rising  moon  shone  full  upon  her 
face  and  figure.  Through  his  growing  in- 
dignation Rand  was  still  impressed  and 
even  startled  with  the  change  the  few  last 
months  had  wrought  upon  her.  In  place 
of  the  silly,  fanciful,  half-hysterical  hoy- 
den whom  he  had  known,  a  matured 
woman,  strong  in  passionate  self-will,  fas- 
cinating in  a  kind  of  wild,  savage  beauty, 
looked  up  at  him  as  if  to  read  his  very 
soul. 

"What  are  you  staring  at?"  she  said 
finally.  "Why  don't  you  help  me  on  ?" 

"Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?"  said  Rand 
quietly. 

"Where!  Up  there!"  — she  pointed 
savagely  to  the  top  of  the  mountain, — "to 
him!  Where  else  should  I  go?"  she  said, 
with  a  bitter  laugh. 


338     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

"I've  told  you  he  wasn't  there,"  said 
Rand  roughly.  "He  hasn't  returned." 

"I'll  wait  for  him — do  you  hear  ? — wait 
for  him ;  stay  there  till  he  comes.  If  you 
won't  help  me,  I'll  go  alone." 

She  made  a  step  forward  but  faltered, 
staggered,  and  was  obliged  to  lean  against 
the  mountain  for  support.  Stains  of  travel 
were  on  her  dress;  lines  of  fatigue  and 
pain,  and  traces  of  burning  passionate 
tears,  were  on  her  face;  her  black  hair 
flowed  from  beneath  her  gaudy  bonnet; 
and,  shamed  out  of  his  brutality,  Rand 
placed  his  strong  arm  round  her  waist,  and 
half  carrying,  half  supporting  her,  began 
the  ascent.  Her  head  dropped  wearily  on 
his  shoulder;  her  arm  encircled  his  neck; 
her  hair,  as  if  caressingly,  lay  across  his 
breast  and  hands;  her  grateful  eyes  were 
close  to  his;  her  breath  was  upon  his 
cheek:  and  yet  his  only  consciousness  was 
of  the  possibly  ludicrous  figure  he  might 
present  to  his  brother,  should  he  meet  him 
with  Mornie  Nixon  in  his  arms.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken  by  either  till  they  reached 
the  summit.  Relieved  at  finding  his 
brother  still  absent,  he  turned  not  unkindly 
toward  the  helpless  figure  on  his  arm.  "I 


THE   CLOUDS   GATHER.  339 

don't  see  what  makes  Ruth  so  late,"  he 
said.  "He's  always  here  by  sundown. 
Perhaps—" 

"Perhaps  he  knows  I'm  here,"  said 
Mornie,  with  a  bitter  laugh. 

"I  didn't  say  that,"  said  Rand,  "and  I 
don't  think  it.  What  I  meant  was,  he 
might  have  met  a  party  that  was  picnick- 
ing here  to-day, — Sol.  Saunders  and  wife, 
and  Miss  Euphemia — " 

Mornie  flung  his  arm  away  from  her 
with  a  passionate  gesture.  "They  here ! — 
picnicking  here! — those  people  here!" 

"Yes,"  said  Rand,  unconsciously  a  little 
ashamed.  "They  came  here  accidentally." 

Mornie's  quick  passion  had  subsided: 
she  had  sunk  again  wearily  and  helplessly 
on  a  rock  beside  him.  "I  suppose,"  she 
said,  with  a  weak  laugh — "I  suppose,  they 
talked  of  me.  I  suppose  they  told  you 
how,  with  their  lies  and  fair  promises, 
they  tricked  me  out,  and  set  me  before  an 
audience  of  brutes  and  laughing  hyenas  to 
make  merry  over.  Did  they  tell  you  of 
the  insults  that  I  received  ? — how  the  sins 
of  my  parents  were  flung  at  me  instead  of 
bouquets?  Did  they  tell  you  they  could 
have  spared  me  this,  but  they  wanted  the 


340     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 
few  extra  dollars  taken  in  at  the  door? 


"They  said  nothing  of  the  kind,"  re- 
plied Rand  surlily. 

"Then  you  must  have  stopped  them. 
You  were  horrified  enough  to  know  that  I 
had  dared  to  take  the  only  honest  way  left 
me  to  make  a  living.  I  know  you,  Ran- 
dolph Pinkney  !  You'd  rather  see  Joaquin 
Muriatta,  the  Mexican  bandit,  standing  be- 
fore you  to-night  with  a  revolver,  than  the 
helpless,  shamed,  miserable  Mornie  Nixon. 
And  you  can't  help  yourself,  unless  you 
throw  me  over  the  cliff.  Perhaps  you'd 
better,"  she  said,  with  a  bitter  laugh  that 
faded  from  her  lips  as  she  leaned,  pale  and 
breathless,  against  the  bowlder. 

"Ruth  will  tell  you  —  "  began  Rand. 

"D—  nRuth!" 

Rand  turned  away. 

"Stop  !"  she  said  suddenly,  staggering  to 
her  feet.  "I'm  sick  —  for  all  I  know, 
dying.  God  grant  that  it  may  be  so! 
But,  if  you  are  a  man,  you  will  help  me 
to  your  cabin  —  to  some  place  where  I  can 
He  down  now,  and  be  at  rest.  I'm  very, 
very  tired." 

She   paused.     She   would   have   fallen 


THE  CLOUDS  GATHER.  341 

again :  but  Rand,  seeing  more  in  her  face 
than  her  voice  interpreted  to  his  sullen 
ears,  took  her  sullenly  in  his  arms,  and 
carried  her  to  the  cabin.  Her  eyes  glanced 
around  the  bright  party-colored  walls,  and 
a  faint  smile  came  to  her  lips  as  she  put 
aside  her  bonnet,  adorned  with  a  com- 
panion pinion  of  the  bright  wings  that 
covered  it. 

"Which  is  Ruth's  bed?"  she  asked. 

Rand  pointed  to  it. 

"Lay  me  there!" 

Rand  would  have  hesitated,  but,  with 
another  look  at  her  face,  complied. 

She  lay  quite  still  a  moment.  Presently 
she  said,  "Give  me  some  brandy  or 
whiskey !" 

Rand  was  silent  and  confused. 

"I  forgot,"  she  added  half  bitterly.  "I 
know  you  have  not  that  commonest  and 
cheapest  of  vices." 

She  lay  quite  still  again.  Suddenly  she 
raised  herself  partly  on  her  elbow,  and  in 
a  strong,  firm  voice,  said,  "Rand!" 

"Yes,  Mornie." 

"If  you  are  wise  and  practical,  as  you 
assume  to  be,  you  will  do  what  I  ask  you 
without  a  question.  If  you  do  it  at  once, 


34:2     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

you  may  save  yourself  and  Ruth  some 
trouble,  some  mortification,  and  perhaps 
some  remorse  and  sorrow.  Do  you  hear 
me?" 

"Yes." 

"Go  to  the  nearest  doctor,  and  bring  him 
here  with  you. 

"But  you !" 

Her  voice  was  strong,  confident,  steady, 
and  patient.  "You  can  safely  leave  me 
until  then." 

In  another  moment  Rand  was  plunging 
down  the  "slide."  But  it  was  past  mid- 
night when  he  struggled  over  the  last  bowl- 
der up  the  •  ascent,  dragging  the  half -ex- 
hausted medical  wisdom  of  Brown's  Ferry 
on  his  arm. 

"I've  been  gone  long,  doctor,"  said  Rand 
feverishly,  "and  she  looked  so  death-like 
when  I  left.  If  we  should  be  too  late !" 

The  doctor  stopped  suddenly,  lifted  his 
head,  and  pricked  his  ears  like  a  hound  on 
a  peculiar  scent.  "We  are  too  late,"  he 
said,  with  a  slight  professional  laugh. 

Indignant  and  horrified,  Rand  turned 
upon  him. 

"Listen,"  said  the  doctor,  lifting  his 
hand. 


THE  CLOUDS   GATHER.  343 

Rand  listened,  so  intently  that  lie  heard 
the  familiar  moan  of  the  river  below ;  but 
the  great  stony  field  lay  silent  before  him. 
And  then,  borne  across  its  bare  barren 
bosom,  like  its  own  articulation,  came 
faintly  the  feeble  wail  of  a  new-born  babe. 


III. 

STORM. 

THE  doctor  hurried  ahead  in  the  dark- 
ness. Rand,  who  had  stopped  paralyzed 
at  the  ominous  sound,  started  forward 
again  mechanically;  but  as  the  cry  arose 
again  more  distinctly,  and  the  full  signifi- 
cance of  the  doctor's  words  came  to  him, 
he  faltered,  stopped,  and,  with  cheeks 
burning  with  shame  and  helpless  indigna- 
tion, sank  upon  a  stone  beside  the  shaft, 
and,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands,  fairly 
gave  way  to  a  burst  of  boyish  tears.  Yet 
even  then  the  recollection  that  he  had  not 
cried  since,  years  ago,  his  mother's  dying 
hands  had  joined  his  and  Ruth's  childish 
fingers  together,  stung  him  fiercely,  and 
dried  his  tears  in  angry  heat  upon  his 
cheeks. 

How  long  he  sat  there,  he  remembered 
not;  what  he  thought,  he  recalled  not 
344 


STORM.  345 

But  the  wildest  and  most  extravagant  plans 
and  resolves  availed  him  nothing  in  the 
face  of  this  forever  desecrated  home,  and 
this  shameful  culmination  of  his  ambitious 
life  on  the  mountain.  Once  he  thought  of 
flight ;  but  the  reflection  that  he  would  still 
abandon  his  brother  to  shame,  perhaps  a 
self-contented  shame,  checked  him  hope- 
lessly. Could  he  avert  the  future?  He 
must'  but  how?  Yet  he  could  only  sit 
and  stare  into  the  darkness  in  dumb  ab- 
straction. 

Sitting  there,  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  pe- 
culiar object  in  a  crevice  of  the  ledge  beside 
the  shaft.  It  was  the  tin  pail  containing 
his  dinner,  which,  according  to  their  cus- 
tom, it  was  the  duty  of  the  brother  who 
staid  above  ground  to  prepare  and  place 
for  the  brother  who  worked  below.  Euth 
must,  consequently,  have  put  it  there  before 
he  left  that  morning,  and  Rand  had  over- 
looked it  while  sharing  the  repast  of  the 
strangers  at  noon.  At  the  sight  of  this 
dumb  witness  of  their  mutual  cares  and 
labors,  Rand  sighed,  half  in  brotherly  sor- 
row, half  in  a  selfish  sense  of  injury  done 
him. 

He  took  up  the  pail  mechanically,  re- 


346     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

moved  its  cover,  and — started;  for  on 
top  of  the  carefully  bestowed  provisions  lay 
a  little  note,  addressed  to  him  in  Ruth's 
peculiar  scrawl. 

He  opened  it  with  feverish  hands,  held 
it  in  the  light  of  the  peaceful  moon,  and 
read  as  follows : 

DEAR,  DEAR  BROTHER, — When  you  read  this,  I 
shall  be  far  away.  I  go  because  I  shall  not  stay 
to  disgrace  you,  and  because  the  girl  that  I  brought 
trouble  upon  has  gone  away  too,  to  hide  her  dis- 
grace and  mine;  and  where  she  goes,  Rand,  I 
ought  to  follow  her,  and,  please  God,  I  will!  I 
am  not  as  wise  or  as  good  as  you  are,  but  it  seems 
the  best  I  can  do;  and  God  'bless  you,  dear  old 
Randy,  boy!  Times  and  times  again  I've  wanted 
to  tell  you  all,  and  reckoned  to  do  so ;  but  whether 
you  was  sitting  before  me  in  the  cabin,  or  working 
beside  me  in  the  drift,  I  couldn't  get  to  look  upon 
your  honest  face,  dear  brother,  and  say  what  things 
I'd  been  keeping  from  you  so  long.  I'll  stay  away 
until  I've  done  what  I  ought  to  do,  and  if  you  can 
say,  "Come,  Ruth,"  I  will  come;  but,  until  you  can 
say  it,  the  mountain  is  yours,  Randy,  boy,  the  mine 
is  yours,  the  cabin  is  yours,  all  is  yours.  Rub  out 
the  old  chalk-marks,  Rand,  as  I  rub  them  out 
here  in  my — [A  few  words  here  were  blurred  and 
indistinct,  as  if  the  moon  had  suddenly  become 
dim-eyed  too].  God  bless  you,  brother! 

P.S. — You  know  I  mean  Mornie  all  the  time. 
It's  she  I'm  going  to  seek;  but  don't  you  think  so 
bad  of  her  as  you  do,  I  am  so  much  worse  than 
she.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  all  along,  but  I 
didn't  dare.  She's  run  away  from  the  Ferry  half 
crazy;  said  she  was  going  to  Sacramento,  and  I 
am  going  there  to  find  her  alive  or  dead.  Forgive 
me,  brother!  Don't  throw  this  down  right  away; 
hold  it  in  your  hand  a  moment,  Randy,  boy,  and 


STORM.  347 

try  hard  to  think  it's  my  hand  in  yours.    And  so 
good-by,  and  God  bless  you,  old  Randy! 
From  your  loving  brother, 

RUTH. 

A  deep  sense  of  relief  overpowered  every 
other  feeling  in  Rand's  breast.  It  was 
clear  that  Ruth  had  not  yet  discovered  the 
truth  of  Mornie's  flight:  he  was  on  his 
way  to  Sacramento,  and  before  he  could 
return,  Mornie  could  be  removed.  Once 
despatched  in  some  other  direction,  with 
Ruth  once  more  returned  and  under  his 
brother's  guidance,  the  separation  could  be 
made  easy  and  final.  There  was  evidently 
no  marriage  as  yet;  and  now,  the  fear  of 
an  immediate  meeting  over,  there  should 
be  none.  For  Rand  had  already  feared 
this ;  had  recalled  the  few  infelicitous  rela- 
tions, legal  and  illegal,  which  were  com- 
mon to  the  adjoining  camp, — the  flagrantly 
miserable  life  of  the  husband  of  a  San 
Francisco  anonyma  who  lived  in  style  at 
the  Ferry,  the  shameful  carousals  and 
more  shameful  quarrels  of  the  Frenchman 
and  Mexican  woman  who  "kept  house"  at 
"the  Crossing,"  the  awful  spectacle  of  the 
three  half-bred  Indian  children  who  played 
before  the  cabin  of  a  fellow  miner  and 
townsman.  Thank  Heaven,  the  Eagle's 


348    THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

Nest  on  Table  Mountain  should  never  be 
pointed  at  from  the  valley  as  another — 

A  heavy  hand  upon  his  arm  brought  him 
trembling  to  his  feet.  He  turned,  and 
met  the  half-anxious,  half-contemptuous 
glance  of  the  doctor. 

"I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,"  he  said 
dryly;  "but  it's  about  time  you  or  some- 
body else  put  in  an  appearance  at  that 
cabin.  Luckily  for  her,  she's  one  woman 
in  a  thousand ;  has  had  her  wits  about  her 
better  than  some  folks  I  know,  and  has 
left  me  little  to  do  but  make  her  comfort- 
able. But  she's  gone  through  too  much, — 
fought  her  little  fight  too  gallantly, — is 
altogether  too  much  of  a  trump  to  be  played 
off  upon  now.  So  rise  up  out  of  that, 
young  man,  pick  up  your  scattered  facul- 
ties, and  fetch  a  woman — some  sensible 
creature  of  her  own  sex — to  look  after 
her ;  for,  without  wishing  to  be  personal, 
I'm  d d  if  I  trust  her  to  the  likes  of 

you." 

There  was  no  mistaking  Dr.  Duchesne's 
voice  and  manner;  and  Band  was  affected 
by  it;  as  most  people  were  throughout  the 
valley  of  the  Stanislaus.  But  he  turned 
upon  him  his  frank  and  boyish  face, 


STORM.  349 

and  said  simply,  "But  I  don't  know  any 
woman,  or  where  to  get  one." 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  again.  "Well, 
I'll  find  you  some  one,"  he  said,  softening. 

"Thank  you  I"  said  Eand. 

The  doctor  was  disappearing.  With  an 
effort  Rand  recalled  him.  "One  moment, 
doctor."  He  hesitated,  and  his  cheeks 
were  glowing.  "You'll  please  say  nothing 
about  this  down  there" — he  pointed  to  the 
valley — "for  a  time.  And  you'll  say  to 
the  woman  you  send — " 

Dr.  Duchesne,  whose  resolute  lips  were 
sealed  upon  the  secrets  of  half  Tuolumne 
County,  interrupted  him  scornfully.  "I 
cannot  answer  for  the  woman — you  must 
talk  to  her  yourself.  As  for  me,  generally 
I  keep  my  professional  visits  to  myself; 
but — "  he  laid  his  hand  on  Hand's  arm — 
"if  I  find  out  you're  putting  on  any  airs  to 
that  poor  creature,  if,  on  my  next  visit, 
her  lips  or  her  pulse  tell  me  you  haven't 
been  acting  on  the  square  to  her,  I'll  drop 
a  hint  to  drunken  old  Nixon  where  his 
daughter  is  hidden.  I  reckon  she  could 
stand  his  brutality  better  than  yours. 
Good-night !" 

In  another  moment  he  was  gone.     Rand, 


350     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

who  had  held  back  his  quick  tongue,  feeling 
himself  in  the  power  of  this  man,  once 
more  alone,  sank  on  a  rock,  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands.  Kecalling  himself  in  a 
moment,  he  rose,  wiped  his  hot  eyelids,  and 
staggered  toward  the  cabin.  It  was  quite 
still  now.  He  paused  on  the  topmost  step, 
and  listened :  there  was  no  sound  from  the 
ledge,  or  the  Eagle's  Nest  that  clung  to  it. 
Half  timidly  he  descended  the  winding 
steps,  and  paused  before  the  door  of  the 
cabin.  "Mornie,"  he  said,  in  a  dry,  me- 
tallic voice,  whose  only  indication  of  the 
presence  of  sickness  was  in  the  lowness  of 
its  pitch, — "Mornie!"  There  was  no  re- 
ply. "Mornie,"  he  repeated  impatiently, 
"it's  me, — Rand.  If  you  want  anything, 
you're  to  call  me.  I  am  just  outside." 
Still  no  answer  came  from  the  silent  cabin. 
He  pushed  open  the  door  gently,  hesitated, 
and  stepped  over  the  threshold. 

A  change  in  the  interior  of  the  cabin 
within  the  last  few  hours  showed  a  new 
presence.  The  guns,  shovels,  picks,  and 
blankets  had  disappeared;  the  two  chairs 
were  drawn  against  the  wall,  the  table 
placed  by  the  bedside.  The  swinging- 
lantern  was  shaded  towards  the  bed, — the 


STORM.  851 

object  of  Rand's  attention.  On  that  bed, 
his  brother's  bed,  lay  a  helpless  woman, 
pale  from  the  long  black  hair  that  matted 
her  damp  forehead,  and  clung  to  her  hollow 
cheeks.  Her  face  was  turned  to  the  wall, 
so  that  the  softened  light  fell  upon  her  pro- 
file, which  to  Rand  at  that  moment  seemed 
even  noble  and  strong.  But  the  next  mo- 
ment his  eye  fell  upon  the  shoulder  and 
arm  that  lay  nearest  to  him,  and  the  little 
bundle,  swathed  in  flannel,  that  it  clasped 
to  her  breast.  His  brow  grew  dark  as  he 
gazed.  The  sleeping  woman  moved.  Per- 
haps it  was  an  instinctive  consciousness  of 
his  presence ;  perhaps  it  was  only  the  cur- 
rent of  cold  air  from  the  opened  door :  but 
she  shuddered  slightly,  and,  still  uncon- 
scious, drew  the  child  as  if  away  from  him, 
and  nearer  to  her  breast.  The  shamed 
blood  rushed  to  Rand's  face;  and  saying 
half  aloud,  "I'm  not  going  to  take  your 
precious  babe  away  from  you,"  he  turned 
in  half -boyish  pettishness  away.  Never- 
theless he  came  back  again  shortly  to  the 
bedside,  and  gazed  upon  them  both.  She 
certainly  did  look  altogether  more  lady- 
like, and  less  aggressive,  lying  there  so 
still:  sickness,  that  cheap  refining  process 


862     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

of  some  natures,  was  not  unbecoming  to 
her.  But  this  bundle!  A  boyish  curi- 
osity, stronger  than  even  his  strong  objec- 
tion to  the  whole  episode,  was  steadily  im- 
pelling him  to  lift  the  blanket  from  it.  "I 
suppose  she'd  waken  if  I  did,"  said  Hand ; 
"but  I'd  like  to  know  what  right  the  doctor 
had  to  wrap  it  up  in  my  best  flannel  shirt." 
This  fresh  grievance,  the  fruit  of  his  curi- 
osity, sent  him  away  again  to  meditate  on 
the  ledge.  After  a  few  moments  he  re- 
turned again,  opened  the  cupboard  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed  softly,  took  thence  a  piece 
of  chalk,  and  scrawled  in  large  letters  upon 
the  door  of  the  cupboard,  "If  you  want  any- 
thing, sing  out :  I'm  just  outside. — BAND/' 
This  done,  he  took  a  blanket  and  bear-skin 
from  the  corner,  and  walked  to  the  door. 
But  here  he  paused,  looked  back  at  the 
inscription  (evidently  not  satisfied  with 
it),  returned,  took  up  the  chalk,  added  a 
line,  but  rubbed  it  out  again,  repeated  this 
operation  a  few  times  until  he  produced 
the  polite  postscript, — "Hope  you'll  be  bet- 
ter soon."  Then  he  retreated  to  the  ledge, 
spread  the  bear-skin  beside  the  door,  and, 
rolling  himself  in  a  blanket,  lit  his  pipe  for 
his  night-long  vigil.  But  Rand,  although 


STORM.  353 

a  martyr,  a  philosopher,  and  a  moralist, 
was  young.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  the 
pipe  dropped  from  his  lips,  and  he  was 
asleep. 

He  awoke  with  a  strange  sense  of  heat 
and  suffocation,  and  with  Difficulty  shook 
off  his  covering.  Rubbing  his  eyes,  he  dis- 
covered that  an  extra  blanket  had  in  some 
mysterious  way  been  added  in  the  night; 
and  beneath  his  head  was  a  pillow  he  had 
no  recollection  of  placing  there  when  he 
went  to  sleep.  By  degrees  the  events  of 
the  past  night  forced  themselves  upon  his 
benumbed  faculties,  and  he  sat  up.  The 
sun  was  riding  high;  the  door  of  the 
cabin  was  open.  Stretching  himself,  he 
staggered  to  his  feet,  and  looked  in  through 
the  yawning  crack  at  the  hinges.  He 
rubbed  his  eyes  again.  Was  he  still  asleep, 
and  followed  by  a  dream  of  yesterday? 
For  there,  even  in  the  very  attitude  he  re- 
membered to  have  seen  her  sitting  at  her 
luncheon  on  the  previous  day,  with  her 
knitting  on  her  lap,  sat  Mrs.  Sol  Saunders ! 
What  did  it  mean  ?  or  had  she  really  been 
sitting  there  ever  since,  and  all  the  events 
that  followed  only  a  dream  ? 


354     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

A  hand  was  laid  upon  his  arm;  and, 
turning,  he  saw  the  murky  black  eyes  and 
Indian-inked  beard  of  Sol  beside  him. 
That  gentleman  put  his  finger  on  his  lips 
with  a  theatrical  gesture,  and  then,  slowly 
retreating  in  the  well-known  manner  of 
the  buried  Majesty  of  Denmark,  waved 
him,  like  another  Hamlet,  to  a  remoter 
part  of  the  ledge.  This  reached,  he 
grasped  Rand  warmly  by  the  hand,  shook 
it  heartily,  and  said,  "It's  all  right,  my 
boy ;  all  right !" 

"But—"  began  Rand.  The  hot  blood 
flowed  to  his  cheeks:  he  stammered,  and 
stopped  short. 

"It's  all  right,  I  say !  Don't  you  mind ! 
We'll  pull  you  through." 

"But,  Mrs.  Sol !  what  does  she — " 

"Rosey  has  taken  the  matter  in  hand, 
sir;  and  when  that  woman  takes  a  matter 
in  hand,  whether  it's  a  baby  or  a  rehearsal, 
sir,  she  makes  it  buzz." 

"But  how  did  she  know?"  stammered 
Rand. 

"How?  Well,  sir,  the  scene  opened 
something  like  this,"  said  Sol  profession- 
ally. "Curtain  rises  on  me  and  Mrs.  Sol. 
Domestic  interior :  practicable  chairs,  table, 


STORM.  355 

books,  newspapers.  Enter  Dr.  Duchesne, 
— eccentric  character  part,  very  popular 
with  the  boys,  —  tells  off-hand  affecting 
story  of  strange  woman — one  'more  un- 
fortunate'— having  baby  in  Eagle's  Nest, 
lonely  place  on  'peaks  of  Snowdon,'  mid- 
night; eagles  screaming,  you  know,  and 
far  down  unfathomable  depths;  only  at- 
tendant, cold-blooded  ruffian,  evidently 
father  of  child,  with  sinister  designs  on 
child  and  mother." 

"He  didn't  say  that !"  said  Rand,  with 
an  agonized  smile. 

"Order !  Sit  down  in  front !"  continued 
Sol  easily.  uMrs.  Sol — highly  interested, 
a  mother  herself — demands  name  of  place. 
'Table  Mountain.'  No;  it  cannot  be — it 
is!  Excitement.  Mystery!  Rosey  rises 
to  occasion — comes  to  front:  'Some  one 
must  go ;  I — I — will  go  myself !'  Myself, 
coming  to  center :  'Not  alone,  dearest ;  I — 
I  will  accompany  you!'  A  shriek  at 
right  upper  center.  Enter  the  'Marysville 
Pet.'  'I  have  heard  all.  Tis  a  base 
calumny.  It  cannot  be  he — Randolph! 
Never!' — 'Dare  you  accompany  us?' — 'I 
will  ?  Tableau. 

"Is   Miss   Euphemia  —  here  ?"    gasped 
v.  24  L— Bret  Harte 


356     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

Eand,  practical  even  in  his  embarrass- 
ment. 

"Or-r-rder!  Scene  second.  Summit  of 
mountain — moonlight.  Peaks  of  Snowdon 
in  distance.  Right — lonely  cabin.  Enter 
slowly  up  defile,  Sol,  Mrs.  Sol,  the  'Pet.' 
Advance  slowly  to  cabin.  Suppressed 
shriek  from  the  'Pet,'  who  rushes  to  re- 
cumbent figure — Left — discovered  lying 
beside  cabin-door.  '  'Tis  he !  Hist !  he 
sleeps!'  Throws  blanket  over  him,  and 
retires  up  stage — so."  Here  Sol  achieved 
a  vile  imitation  of  the  "Pet's"  most  en- 
chanting stage-manner.  "Mrs.  Sol  ad- 
vances —  Center  —  throws  open  door. 
Shriek!  '  'Tis  Mornie,  the  lost  found!' 
The  'Pet'  advances :  'And  the  father  is  V— 
'Not  Rand!'  The  Tet'  kneeling:  'Just 
Heaven,  I  thank  thee !'  No,  it  is — '  " 

"Hush!"  said  Rand  appealingly,  look- 
ing toward  the  cabin. 

"Hush  it  is!"  said  the  actor  good-na- 
turedly. "But  it's  all  right,  Mr.  Rand: 
we'll  pull  you  through." 

Later  in  the  morning,  Rand  learned  that 
Mornie's  ill-fated  connection  with  the  Star 
Variety  Troupe  had  been  a  source  of 
anxiety  to  Mrs.  Sol,  and  she  had  (re- 


STORM.  367 

preached  herself  for  the  girl's  infelicitous 
debut. 

"But,  Lord  bless  you,  Mr.  Eand !"  said 
Sol,  "it  was  all  in  the  way  of  business. 
She  carne  to  us — was  fresh  and  new.  Her 
chance,  looking  at  it  professionally,  was 
as  good  as  any  amateur's;  but  what  with 
her  relations  here,  and  her  bein'  known, 
Bhe  didn't  take.  We  lost  money  on  her! 
It's  natural  she  should  feel  a  little  ugly. 
We  all  do  when  we  get  sorter  kicked  back 
onto  ourselves,  and  find  we  can't  stand 
alone.  Why,  you  wouldn't  believe  it,"  he 
continued,  with  a  moist  twinkle  of  his 
black  eyes ;  "but  the  night  I  lost  my  little 
Rosey,  of  diphtheria  in  Gold  Hill,  the 
child  was  down  on  the  bills  for  a  comic 
song;  and  I  had  to  drag  Mrs.  Sol  on,  cut 
up  as  she  was,  and  filled  up  with  that 
much  of  Old  Bourbon  to  keep  her  nerves 
stiff,  so  she  could  do  an  old  gag- with  me  to 
gain  time,  and  make  up  the  Variety.' 
Why,  sir,  when  I  came  to  the  front,  /  was 
ugly!  And  when  one  of  the  boys  in  the 
front  row  sang  out,  'Don't  expose  that  poor 
child  to  the  night  air,  Sol,' — meaning  Mrs. 
Sol, — I  acted  ugly.  No,  sir,  it's  human 
nature;  and  it  was  quite  natural  that 


358     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

Morale,  when  she  caught  sight  o'  Mrs. 
Sol's  face  last  night,  should  rise  up  and 
cuss  us  both.  Lord,  if  she'd  only  acted 
like  that!  But  the  old  lady  got  her  quiet 
at  last ;  and,  as  I  said  before,  it's  all  right, 
and  we'll  pull  her  through.  But  don't  you 
thank  us :  it's  a  little  matter  betwixt  us  and 
Mornie.  We've  got  everything  fixed,  so 
that  Mrs.  Sol  can  stay  right  along.  We'll 
pull  Mornie  through,  and  get  her  away 
from  this,  and  her  baby  too,  as  soon  as  we 
can.  You  won't  get  mad  if  I  tell  you 
something?"  said  Sol,  with  a  half-apolo- 
getic laugh.  "Mrs.  Sol  was  rather  down 
on  you  the  other  day,  hated  you  on  sight, 
and  preferred  your  brother  to  you;  but 
when  she  found  he'd  run  off  and  left  you, 
you, — don't  mind  my  savin', — a  'mere 
boy,'  to  take  what  oughter  be  his  place, 
why,  she  just  wheeled  round  agin'  him.  I 
suppose  he  got  flustered,  and  couldn't  face 
the  music.  Never  left  a  word  of  explana- 
tion? Well,  it  wasn't  exactly  square, 
though  I  tell  the  old  woman  it's  human 
nature.  He  might  have  dropped  a  hint 
where  he  was  goin'.  Well,  there,  I  won't 
say  a  word  more  agin'  him.  I  know  how 
vou  feel.  Hush  it  is." 


8TORM.  359 

It  was  the  firm  conviction  of  the  simple- 
minded  Sol  that  no  one  knew  the  various 
natural  indications  of  human  passion  bet- 
ter than  himself.  Perhaps  it  was  one  of 
the  fallacies  of  his  profession  that  the  ex- 
pression of  all  human  passion  was  limited 
to  certain  conventional  signs  and  sounds. 
Consequently,  when  Eand  colored  vio- 
lently, became  confused,  stammered,  and 
at  last  turned  hastily  away,  the  good- 
hearted  fellow  instantly  recognized  the  un- 
failing evidence  of  modesty  and  innocence 
embarrassed  by  recognition.  As  for  Rand, 
I  fear  his  shame  was  only  momentary. 
Confirmed  in  the  belief  of  .his  ulterior  wis- 
dom and  virtue,  his  first  embarrassment 
over,  he  was  not  displeased  with  this  half- 
way tribute,  and  really  believed  that  the 
time  would  come  when  Mr.  Sol  should 
eventually  praise  his  sagacity  and  reserva- 
tion, and  acknowledge  that  he  was  some- 
thing more  than  a  mere  boy.  He,  never- 
theless, shrank  from  meeting  Mornie  that 
morning,  and  was  glad  that  the  presence  of 
Mrs.  Sol  relieved  him  from  that  duty. 

The  day  passed  uneventfully.  Rand 
busied  himself  in  his  usual  avocations,  and 
constructed  a  temporary  shelter  for  him- 


360     THE   TWIN8  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

self  and  Sol  beside  the  shaft,  besides  rudely 
shaping  a  few  necessary  articles  of  furni- 
ture for  Mrs.  Sol. 

"It  will  be  a  little  spell  yet  afore 
Mornie's  able  to  be  moved,"  suggested  Sol, 
"and  you  might  as  well  be  comfortable." 

Rand  sighed  at  this  prospect,  yet  pres- 
ently forgot  himself  in  the  good  humor  of 
his  companion,  whose  admiration  for 
himself  he  began  to  patronizingly  admit. 
There  was  no  sense  of  degradation  in  ac- 
cepting the  friendship  of  this  man  who 
had  traveled  so  far,  seen  so  much,  and  yet, 
as  a  practical  man  of  the  world,  Kand  felt 
was  so  inferior  to  himself.  The  absence  of 
Miss  Euphemia,  who  had  early  left  the 
mountain,  was  a  source  of  odd,  half- 
definite  relief.  Indeed,  when  he  closed 
his  eyes  to  rest  that  night,  it  was  with  a 
sense  that  the  reality  of  his  situation  was 
not  as  bad  as  he  had  feared.  Once  only, 
the  figure  of  his  brother — haggard,  weary, 
and  footsore,  on  his  hopeless  quest,  wander- 
ing in  lonely  trails  and  lonelier  settlements 
— came  across  his  fancy;  but  with  it 
came  the  greater  fear  of  his  return,  and 
the  pathetic  figure  was  banished.  "And, 
besides,  he's  in  Sacramento  by  this  time, 


STORM.  361 

and  like  as  not  forgotten  us  all,"  he  mut- 
tered; and,  twining  this  poppy  and  man- 
dragora  around  his  pillow,  he  fell  asleep. 

His  spirits  had  quite  returned  the  next 
morning,  and  once  or  twice  he  found  him- 
self singing  while  at  work  in  the  shaft 
The  fear  that  Ruth  might  return  to  the 
mountain  before  he  could  get  rid  of 
Mornie,  and  the  slight  anxiety  that  had 
grown  upon  him  to  know  something  of  his 
brother's  movements,  and  to  be  able  to 
govern  them  as  he  wished,  caused  him  to 
hit  upon  the  plan  of  constructing  an  in- 
genious advertisement  to  be  published  in 
the  San  Francisco  journals,  wherein  the 
missing  Euth  should  be  advised  that  news 
of  his  quest  should  be  communicated  to 
him  by  ua  friend,"  through  the  same 
medium,  after  an  interval  of  two  weeks. 
Full  of  this  amiable  intention,  he  returned 
to  the  surface  to  dinner.  Here,  to  his 
momentary  confusion,  he  met  Miss  Eu- 
phemia,  who,  in  absence  of  Sol,  was  as- 
sisting Mrs.  Sol  in  the  details  of  the  house- 
hold. 

If  the  honest  frankness  with  which  that 
young  lady  greeted  him  was  not  enough  to 
relieve  his  embarrassment,  he  would  have 


362     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

forgotten  it  in  the  utterly  new  and  changed 
aspect  she  presented.  Her  extravagant 
walking-costume  of  the  previous  day  was 
replaced  by  some  bright  calico,  a  little 
white  apron,  and  a  broad-brimmed  straw- 
hat,  which  seemed  to  Rand,  in  some  odd 
fashion,  to  restore  her  original  girlish  sim- 
plicity. The  change  was  certainly  not  un- 
becoming to  her.  If  her  waist  was  not  as 
tightly  pinched,  a  la  mode,  there  still  was 
an  honest,  youthful  plumpness  about  it; 
her  step  was  freer  for  the  absence  of  her 
high-heel  boots ;  and  even  the  hand  she  ex- 
tended to  Rand,  if  not  quite  so  small  as  in 
her  tight  gloves,  and  a  little  brown  from 
exposure,  was  magnetic  in  its  strong, 
kindly  grasp.  There  was  perhaps  a  slight 
suggestion  of  the  practical  Mr.  Sol  in  her 
wholesome  presence;  and  Rand  could  not 
help  wondering  if  Mrs.  Sol  had  ever  been 
a  Gold  Hill  "Pet"  before  her  marriage 
with  Mr.  Sol.  The  young  girl  noticed  his 
curious  glance. 

"You  never  saw  me  in  my  rehearsal 
dress  before,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"But  I'm  not  'company'  to-day,  and  didn't 
put  on  my  best  harness  to  knock  round  in. 
I  suppose  I  look  dreadful." 


STORM.  363 

"I  don't  think  you  look  bad/'  said  Rand 
simply. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Euphemia,  with  a 
laugh  and  a  courtesy.  "But  this  isn't  get- 
ting the  dinner." 

As  part  of  that  operation  evidently  was 
the  taking-off  of  her  hat,  the  putting-up  of 
some  thick  blond  locks  that  had  escaped, 
and  the  rolling-up  of  her  sleeves  over  a 
pair  of  strong,  rounded  arms,  Rand  lin- 
gered near  her.  All  trace  of  the  "Pet's" 
previous  professional  coquetry  was  gone, — 
perhaps  it  was  only  replaced  by  a  more 
natural  one;  but  as  she  looked  up,  and 
caught  sight  of  Rand's  interested  face,  she 
laughed  again,  and  colored  a  little.  Slight 
as  was  the  blush,  it  was  sufficient  to  kindle 
a  sympathetic  fire  in  Rand's  own  cheeks, 
which  was  so  utterly  unexpected  to  him  that 
he  turned  on  his  heel  in  confusion.  "I 
reckon  she  thinks  I'm  soft  and  silly,  like 
Ruth,"  he  soliloquized,  and,  determining 
not  to  look  at  her  again,  betook  himself  to  a 
distant  and  contemplative  pipe.  In  vain  did 
Miss  Euphemia  address  herself  to  the  os- 
tentatious getting  of  the  dinner  in  full  view 
of  him ;  in  vain  did  she  bring  the  coffee-pot 
away  from  the  fire,  and  nearer  Rand,  with 


364     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

the  apparent  intention  of  examining  its 
contents  in  a  better  light;  in  vain,  while 
wiping  a  plate,  did  she,  absorbed  in  the 
distant  prospect,  walk  to  the  verge  of  the 
mountain,  and  become  statuesque  and  for- 
getful. The  sulky  young  gentleman  took 
no  outward  notice  of  her. 

Mrs.  Sol's  attendance  upon  Mornie  pre- 
vented her  leaving  the  cabin,  and  Rand  and 
Miss  Euphemia  dined  in  the  open  air  alone. 
The  ridiculousness  of  keeping  up  a  formal 
attitude  to  his  solitary  companion  caused 
Rand  to  relax;  but,  to  his  astonishment, 
the  "Pet"  seemed  to  have  become  corre- 
spondingly distant  and  formal.  After  a 
few  moments  of  discomfort,  Rand,  who 
had  eaten  little,  arose,  and  ubelieved  he 
would  go  back  to  work." 

"Ah,  yes!"  said  the  "Pet,"  with  an  in- 
different air,  "I  suppose  you  must.  Well, 
good-by,  Mr.  Pinkney." 

Rand  turned.  "You  are  not  going  ?"  he 
asked,  in  some  uneasiness. 

"I've  got  some  work  to  do  too,"  re- 
turned Miss  Euphemia  a  little  curtly. 

"But,"  said  the  practical  Rand,  "I 
thought  you  allowed  that  you  were  fixed  to 
stay  until  to-morrow?" 


STORM.  365 

But  here  Miss  Euphemia,  with  rising 
color  and  slight  acerbity  of  voice,  was  not 
aware  that  she  was  "fixed  to  stay"  any- 
where, least  of  all  when  she  was  in  the 
way.  More  than  that,  she  must  say — al- 
though perhaps  it  made  no  difference,  and 
she  ought  not  to  say  it — that  she  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  intruding  upon  gentlemen 
who  plainly  gave  her  to  understand  that 
her  company  was  not  desirable.  She  did 
not  know  why  she  said  this — of  course  it 
could  make  no  difference  to  anybody  who 
didn't,  of  course,  care  —  but  she  only 
wanted  to  say  that  she  only  came  here  be- 
cause her  dear  friend,  her  adopted  mother, 
— and  a  better  woman  never  breathed, — 
had  come,  and  had  asked  her  to  stay.  Of 
course,  Mrs.  Sol  was  an  intruder  herself — 
Mr.  Sol  was  an  intruder — they  were  all  in- 
truders :  she  only  wondered  that  Mr.  Pink- 
ney  had  borne  with  them  so  long.  She 
knew  it  was  an  awful  thing  to  be  here, 
taking  care  of  a  poor  —  poor,  helpless 
woman ;  but  perhaps  Mr.  Rand's  brother 
might  forgive  them,  if  he  couldn't.  But 
no  matter,  she  would  go — Mr.  Sol  would 
go — all  would  go;  and  then,  perhaps,  Mr. 
Rand— 


366     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

She  stopped  breathless;  she  stopped 
with  the  corner  of  her  apron  against  her 
tearful  hazel  eyes;  she  stopped  with — 
what  was  more  remarkable  than  all — 
Rand's  arm  actually  around  her  waist,  and 
his  astonished,  alarmed  face  within  a  few 
inches  of  her  own. 

"Why,  Miss  Euphemia,  Phemie,  my 
dear  girl!  I  never  meant  anything  like 
that"  said  Rand  earnestly.  "I  really 
didn't  now!  Come  now!" 

"You  never  once  spoke  to  me  when  I 
sat  down,"  said  Miss  Euphemia,  feebly  en- 
deavoring to  withdraw  from  Rand's  grasp. 

"I  really  didn't!  Oh,  come  now,  look 
here !  I  didn't !  Don't !  There's  a  dear 
—there !" 

This  last  conclusive  exposition  was  a 
kiss.  Miss  Euphemia  was  not  quick 
enough  to  release  herself  from  his  arms. 
He  anticipated  that  act  a  full  half-second, 
and  had  dropped  his  own,  pale  and  breath- 
less. . 

The  girl  recovered  herself  first.  "There, 
I  declare,  I'm  forgetting  Mrs.  Sol's  coffee !" 
she  exclaimed  hastily,  and,  snatching  up 
the  coffee-pot,  disappeared.  When  she  re- 
turned, Rand  was  gone.  Miss  Euphemia 


STORM.  367 

busied  herself  demurely  in  clearing  up  the 
dishes,  with  the  tail  of  her  eye  sweeping 
the  horizon  of  the  summit  level  around  her. 
But  no  Rand  appeared.  Presently  she  be- 
gan to  laugh  quietly  to  herself.  This  oc- 
curred several  times  during  her  occupa- 
tion, which  was  somewhat  prolonged.  The 
result  of  this  meditative  hilarity  was 
summed  up  in  a  somewhat  grave  and 
thoughtful  deduction  as  she  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  cabin:  "I  do  believe  I'm 'the 
first  woman  that  that  boy  ever  kissed." 

Miss  Euphemia  staid  that  day  and  the 
next,  and  Eand  forgot  his  embarrassment. 
By  what  means  I  know  not,  Miss  Eu- 
phemia managed  to  restore  Rand's  confi- 
dence in  himself  and  in  her,  and  in  a  little 
ramble  on  the  mountain-side  got  him  to 
relate,  albeit  somewhat  reluctantly,  the 
particulars  of  his  rescue  of  Mornie  from 
her  dangerous  position  on  the  broken 
trail. 

"And,  if  you  hadn't  got  there  as  soon  as 
you  did,  she'd  have  fallen?"  asked  the 
"Pet." 

"I  reckon,"  returned  Rand  gloomily: 
"she  was  sorter  dazed  and  crazed  like." 

"And  you  saved  her  life?" 


368     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

"I  suppose  so,  if  you  put  it  that  way," 
said  Rand  sulkily. 

"But  how  did  you  get  her  up  the  moun- 
tain again?" 

"Oh!  I  got  her  up,"  returned  Rand 
moodily. 

"But  how?  Really,  Mr.  Rand,  you 
don't  know  how  interesting  this  is.  It's 
as  good  as  a  play,"  said  the  "Pet,"  with  a 
little  excited  laugh. 

"Oh,  I  carried  her  up!" 

"In  your  arms  ?" 

"Y-e-e-s." 

Miss  Euphemia  paused,  and  bit  off  the 
stalk  of  a  flower,  made  a  wry  face,  and 
threw  it  away  from  her  in  disgust. 

Then  she  dug  a  few  tiny  holes  in  the 
earth  with  her  parasol,  and  buried  bits  of 
the  flower-stalk  in  them,  as  if  they  had 
been  tender  memories.  "I  suppose  you 
knew  Mornie  very  well  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  used  to  run  across  her  in  the  woods," 
responded  Rand  shortly,  "a  year  ago.  I 
didn't  know  her  so  well  then  as — "  He 
stopped. 

"As  what?  As  now ?"  asked  the  "Pet" 
abruptly.  Rand,  who  was  coloring  over 
his  narrow  escape  from  a  topic  which  a 


STORM.  869 

delicate  kindness  of  Sol  had  excluded  from 
their  intercourse  on  the  mountain,  stam- 
mered, "as  you  do,  I  meant." 

The  "Pet"  tossed  her  head  a  little. 
"Oh!  I  don't  know  her  at  all — except 
through  Sol." 

Rand  stared  hard  at  this.  The  "Pet," 
who  was  looking  at  him  intently,  said, 
"Show  me  the  place  where  you  saw  Mornie 
clinging  that  night." 

"It's  dangerous,"  suggested  Rand. 

"You  mean  I'd  be  afraid !  Try  me !  I 
don't  believe  she  was  so  dreadfully  fright- 
ened!" 

"Why?"  asked  Rand,  in  astonishment. 

"Oh— because— " 

Rand  sat  down  in  vague  wonderment. 

"Show  it  to  me,"  continued  the  "Pet," 
"or— I'll  find  it  alone  r 

Thus  challenged,  he  rose,  and,  after  a 
few  moments'  climbing,  stood  with  her 
upon  the  trail.  "You  see  that  thorn-bush 
where  the  rock  has  fallen  away.  It  was 
just  there.  It  is  not  safe  to  go  farther. 
No,  really!  Miss  Euphemia!  Please 
don't!  It's  almost  certain  death!" 

But  the  giddy  girl  had  darted  past  him, 
and,  face  to  the  wall  of  the  cliff,  was  creep- 


370     THE  TWIN8  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

ing  along  the  dangerous  path.  Rand  fol- 
lowed mechanically.  Once  or  twice  the 
trail  crumbled  beneath  her  feet;  but  she 
clung  to  a  projecting  root  of  chaparral,  and 
laughed.  She  had  almost  reached  her 
elected  goal,  when,  slipping,  the  treach- 
erous chaparral  she  clung  to  yielded  in  her 
grasp,  and  Rand,  with  a  cry,  sprung  for- 
ward. 

But  the  next  instant  she  quickly  trans- 
ferred her  hold  to  a  cleft  in  the  cliff, 
and  was  safe.  Not  so  her  companion. 
The  soil  beneath  him,  loosened  by  the  im- 
pulse of  his  spring,  slipped  away:  he  was 
falling  with  it,  when  she  caught  him 
sharply  with  her  disengaged  hand,  and  to- 
gether they  scrambled  to  a  more  secure 
footing. 

"I  could  have  reached  it  alone,"  said  the 
"Pet,"  "if  you'd  left  me  alone." 

"Thank  Heaven,  we're  saved!"  said 
Rand  gravely. 

"And  without  a  rope"  said  Miss  Eu- 
phemia  significantly. 

Rand  did  not  understand  her.  But,  as 
they  slowly  returned  to  the  summit,  he 
stammered  out  the  always  difficult  thanks 
of  a  man  who  has  been  physically  helped 


STORM.  371 

by  one  of  the  weaker  sex.  Miss  Euphemia 
was  quick  to  see  her  error. 

"I  might  have  made  you  lose  your  foot- 
ing by  catching  at  you,"  she  said  meekly. 
"But  I  was  so  frightened  for  you,  and 
could  not  help  it." 

The  superior  animal,  thoroughly  bam- 
boozled, thereupon  complimented  her  on 
her  dexterity. 

"Oh,  that's  nothing!"  she  said,  with  a 
sigh.  "I  used  to  do  the  flying-trapeze 
business  with  papa  when  I  was  a  child, 
and  I've  not  forgotten  it."  With  this  and 
other  confidences  of  her  early  life,  in 
which  Rand  betrayed  considerable  interest, 
they  beguiled  the  tedious  ascent.  "I  ought 
to  have  made  you  carry  me  up,"  said  the 
lady,  with  a  little  laugh,  when  they  reached 
the  summit;  "but  you  haven't  known  me 
as  long  as  you  have  Mornie,  have  you?" 
With  this  mysterious  speech  she  bade  Eand 
"good-night,"  and  hurried  off  to  the  cabin. 

And  so  a  week  passed  by, — the  week  so 
dreaded  by  Rand,  yet  passed  so  pleasantly, 
that  at  times  it  seemed  as  if  that  dread 
were  only  a  trick  of  his  fancy,  or  as  if  the 
circumstances  that  surrounded  him  were 
different  from  what  he  believed  them  to 


872     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

be.  On  the  seventh  day  the  doctor  had 
staid  longer  than  usual;  and  Rand,  who 
had  been  sitting  with  Euphemia  on  the 
ledge  by  the  shaft,  watching  the  sunset, 
had  barely  time  to  withdraw  his  hand 
from  hers,  as  Mrs.  Sol,  a  trifle  pale  and 
wearied-looking,  approached  him. 

"I  don't  like  to  trouble  you,"  she  said, — 
indeed,  they  had  seldom  troubled  him  with 
the  details  of  Mornie's  convalescence,  or 
even  her  needs  and  requirements, — "but 
the  doctor  is  alarmed  about  Mornie,  and  she 
has  asked  to  see  you.  I  think  you'd  better 
go  in  and  speak  to  her.  You  know,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Sol  delicately,  ayou  haven't 
been  in  there  since  the  night  she  was  taken 
sick,  and  maybe  a  new  face  might  do  her 
good." 

The  guilty  blood  flew  to  Band's  face  as 
he  stammered,  "I  thought  I'd  be  in  the 
way.  I  didn't  believe  she  cared  much  to 
see  me.  Is  she  worse?" 

"The  doctor  is  looking  very  anxious," 
said  Mrs.  Sol  simply. 

The  blood  returned  from  Rand's  face, 
and  settled  around  his  heart.  He  turned 
very  pale.  He  had  consoled  himself  al- 
ways for  his  complicity  in  Ruth's  absence, 


STORM.  373 

that  he  was  taking  good  care  of  Mornie, 
or — what  is  considered  by  most  selfish  na- 
tures an  equivalent  —  permitting  or  en- 
couraging some  one  else  to  "take  good  care 
of  her ;"  but  here  was  a  contingency  utterly 
unforeseen.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
this  "taking  good  care"  of  her  could  result 
in  anything  but  a  perfect  solution  of  her 
troubles,  or  that  there  could  be  any  future 
to  her  condition  but  one  of  recovery.  But 
what  if  she  should  die?  A  sudden  and 
helpless  sense  of  his  responsibility  to  Ruth, 
to  her,  brought  him  trembling  to  his  feet. 

He  hurried  to  the  cabin,  where  Mrs.  Sol 
left  him  with  a  word  of  caution :  "You'll 
find  her  changed  and  quiet, — very  quiet. 
If  I  was  you,  I  wouldn't  say  anything  to 
bring  back  her  old  self." 

The  change  which  Rand  saw  was  so 
great,  the  face  that  was  turned  to  him  so 
quiet,  that,  with  a  new  fear  upon  him,  he 
would  have  preferred  the  savage  eyes  and 
reckless  mien  of  the  old  Mornie  whom  he 
hated.  With  his  habitual  impulsiveness 
he  tried  to  say  something  that  should  ex- 
press that  fact  not  unkindly,  but  faltered, 
and  awkwardly  sank  into  the  chair  by  her 
bedside. 


374     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  stare  at  me  now," 
she  said  in  a  far-off  voice.  "It  seems  to 
you  strange  to  see  me  lying  here  so  quiet. 
You  are  thinking  how  wild  I  was  when  I 
came  here  that  night.  I  must  have  been 
crazy,  I  think.  I  dreamed  that  I  said 
dreadful  things  to  you ;  but  you  must  for- 
give me,  and  not  mind  it.  I  was  crazy 
then."  She  stopped,  and  folded  the 
blanket  between  her  thin  fingers.  "I 
didn't  ask  you  to  come  here  to  tell  you  that, 
or  to  remind  you  of  it;  but — but  when  I 
was  crazy,  I  said  so  many  worse,  dreadful 
things  of  him;  and  you — you  will  be  left 
behind  to  tell  him  of  it." 

Eandwas  vaguely  murmuring  something 
to  the  effect  that  "he  knew  she  didn't  mean 
anything,"  that  "she  musn't  think  of  it 
again,"  that  "he'd  forgotten  all  about 
it,"  when  she  stopped  him  with  a  tired 
gesture. 

"Perhaps  I  was  wrong  to  think,  that, 
after  I  am  gone,  you  would  care  to  tell 
him  anything.  Perhaps  I'm  wrong  to 
think  of  it  at  all,  or  to  care  what  he  will 
think  of  me,  except  for  the  sake  of  the 
child — his  child,  Kand — that  I  must  leave 
behind  me.  He  will  know  that  U  never 


STORM.  375 

abused  him.  No,  God  bless  its  sweet  heart ! 
it  never  was  wild  and  wicked  and  hateful, 
like  its  cruel,  crazy  mother.  And  he  will 
love  it ;  and  you,  perhaps,  will  love  it  too — 
just  a  little,  Eand!  Look  at  it!"  She 
tried  to  raise  the  helpless  bundle  beside 
her  in  her  arms,  but  failed.  "You  must 
lean  over,"  she  said  faintly  to  Rand.  "It 
looks  like  him,  doesn't  it  ?" 

Rand,  with  wondering,  embarrassed 
eyes,  tried  to  see  some  resemblance,  in  the 
little  blue-red  oval,  to  the  sad,  wistful  face 
of  his  brother,  which  even  then  was  haunt- 
ing him  from  some  mysterious  distance. 
He  kissed  the  child's  forehead,  but  even 
then  so  vaguely  and  perfunctorily,  that 
the  mother  sighed,  and  drew  it  closer  to 
her  breast. 

"The  doctor  says,"  she  continued  in  a 
calmer  voice,  "that  Fm  not  doing  as  well 
as  I  ought  to.  I  don't  think,"  she  faltered, 
with  something  of  her  old  bitter  laugh, 
"that  I'm  ever  doing  as  well  as  I  ought  to, 
and  perhaps  it's  not  strange  now  that  I 
don't.  And  he  says  that,  in  case  any- 
thing happens  to  me,  I  ought  to  look  ahead. 
I  have  looked  ahead.  It's  a  dark  look 
ahead,  Rand — a  horror  of  blackness,  with- 


376     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

out  kind  faces,  without  the  baby,  with- 
out— without  Mm!" 

She  turned  her  face  away,  and  laid  it 
on  the  bundle  by  her  side.  It  was  so  quiet 
in  the  cabin,  that,  through  the  open  door 
beyond,  the  faint,  rhythmical  moan  of  the 
pines  below  was  distinctly  heard. 

"I  know  it's  foolish;  but  that  is  what 
'looking  ahead'  always  meant  to  me,"  she 
said,  with  a  sigh.  "But,  since  the  doctor 
has  been  gone,  I've  talked  to  Mrs.  Sol,  and 
find  it's  for  the  best.  And  I  look  ahead, 
and  see  more  clearly.  I  look  ahead,  and 
see  my  disgrace  removed  far  away  from 
him  and  you.  I  look  ahead,  and  see  you 
and  he  living  together  happily,  as  you  did 
before  I  came  between  you.  I  look  ahead, 
and  see  my  past  life  forgotten,  my  faults 
forgiven;  and  I  think  I  see  you.  both 
loving  my  baby,  and  perhaps  loving  me  a 
little  for  its  sake.  Thank  you,  Rand, 
thank  you !" 

For  Rand's  hand  had  caught  hers  beside 
the  pillow,  and  he  was  standing  over  her, 
whiter  than  she.  Something  in  the  pres- 
sure of  his  hand  emboldened  her  to  go  ona 
and  even  lent  a  certain  strength  to  her 
voice. 


STORM.  377 

"When  it  comes  to  that,  Eand,  you'll 
not  let  these  people  take  the  baby  away. 
You'll  keep  it  here  with  you  until  he 
conies.  And  something  tells  me  that  he  will 
come  when  I  am  gone.  You'll  keep  it  here 
in  the  pure  air  and  sunlight  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  out  of  those  wicked  depths  below; 
and  when  I  am  gone,  and  they  are  gone, 
and  only  you  and  Ruth  and  baby  are  here, 
maybe  you'll  think  that  it  came  to  you  in 
a  cloud  on  the  mountain, — a  cloud  that 
lingered  only  long  enough  to  drop  its  bur- 
den, and  faded,  leaving  the  sunlight  and 
dew  behind.  What  is  it,  Eand?  What 
are  you  looking  at?" 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Rand  in  a 
strange  altered  voice,  "that  I  must  trouble 
you  to  let  me  take  down  those  duds  and 
furbelows  that  hang  on  the  wall,  so  that  I 
can  get  at  some  traps  of  mine  behind 
them."  He  took  some  articles  from  the 
wall,  replaced  the  dresses  of  Mrs.  Sol,  and 
answered  Mornie's  look  of  inquiry. 

"I  was  only  getting  at  my  purse  and 
my  revolver,"  he  said,  showing  them. 
"I've  got  to  get  some  stores  at  the  Ferry 
by  daylight." 

Mornie  sighed.     "I'm  giving  you  great 


378     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

trouble,  Rand,  I  know ;  but  it  won't  be  for 
long." 

He  muttered  something,  took  her  hand 
again,  and  bade  her  "good-night"  When 
he  reached  the  door,  he  looked  back.  The 
light  was  shining  full  upon  her  face  as  she 
lay  there,  with  her  babe  on  her  breast, 
bravely  "looking  ahead." 


IV. 

THE  CLOUDS  PASS. 

IT  was  early  morning  at  the  Ferry. 
The  "up  coach"  had  passed,  with  lights  un- 
extinguished,  and  the  "outsides"  still 
asleep.  The  ferryman  had  gone  up  to  the 
Ferry  Mansion  House,  swinging  his  lan- 
tern, and  had  found  the  sleepy-looking 
"all  night"  bar-keeper  on  the  point  of  with- 
drawing for  the  day  on  a  mattress  under 
the  bar.  An  Indian  half-breed,  porter  of 
the  Mansion  House,  was  washing  out  the 
stains  of  recent  nocturnal  dissipation  from 
the  bar-room  and  veranda;  a  few  birds 
were  twittering  on  the  cotton-woods  beside 
the  river;  a  bolder  few  had  alighted  upon 
the  veranda,  and  were  trying  to  recon- 
cile the  existence  of  so  much  lemon-peel 
and  cigar-stumps  with  their  ideas  of  a  be- 
neficent Creator.  A  faint  earthly  fresh- 
ness and  perfume  rose  along  the  river- 
379 


380     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

banks.  Deep  shadow  still  lay  upon  the 
opposite  shore;  but  in  the  distance,  four 
miles  away,  Morning  along  the  level  crest 
of  Table  Mountain  walked  with  rosy  tread. 

The  sleepy  bar-keeper  was  that  morning 
doomed  to  disappointment;  for  scarcely 
had  the  coach  passed,  when  steps  were 
heard  upon  the  veranda,  and  a  weary, 
dusty  traveller  threw  his  blanket  and  knap- 
sack to  the  porter,  and  then  dropped  into 
a  vacant  arm-chair,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  distant  crest  of  Table  Mountain.  He 
remained  motionless  for  some  time,  until 
the  bar-keeper,  who  had  already  concocted 
the  conventional  welcome  of  the  Mansion 
House,  appeared  with  it  in  a  glass,  put  it 
upon  the  table,  glanced  at  the  stranger,  and 
then,  thoroughly  awake,  cried  out, — 

"Ruth  Pinkney — or  I'm  a  Chinaman!" 

The  stranger  lifted  his  eyes  wearily. 
Hollow  circles  were  around  their  orbits; 
haggard  lines  were  in  his  cheeks.  But  it 
was  Ruth. 

He  took  the  glass,  and  drained  it  at  a 
single  draught.  "Yes,"  he  said  absently, 
"Ruth  Pinkney,"  and  fixed  his  eyes  again 
on  the  distant  rosy  crest. 

"On  your  way  up  home  3"  suggested  the 


THE    CLOUDS   PASS.  381 

bar-keeper,  following  the  direction  of 
Ruth's  eyes. 

"Perhaps." 

"Been  upon  a  pasear,  hain't  yer  ?  Been 
havin7  a  little  tear  round  Sacramento, — 
seein'  the  sights  ?" 

Ruth  smiled  bitterly.     "Yes." 

The  bar-keeper  lingered,  ostentatiously 
wiping  a  glass.  But  Ruth  again  became 
abstracted  in  the  mountain,  and  the  bar- 
keeper turned  away. 

How  pure  and  clear  that  summit  looked 
to  him!  how  restful  and  steadfast  with 
serenity  and  calm!  how  unlike  his  own 
feverish,  dusty,  travel- worn  self !  A  week 
had  elapsed  since  he  had  last  looked  upon 
it, — a  week  of  disappointment,  of  anxious 
fears,  of  doubts,  of  wild  imaginings,  of 
utter  helplessness.  In  his  hopeless  quest 
of  the  missing  Mornie,  he  had,  in  fancy, 
seen  this  serene  eminence  haunting  his  re- 
morseful, passion-stricken  soul.  And  now, 
without  a  clew  to  guide  him  to  her  un- 
known hiding-place,  he  was  back  again,  to 
face  the  brother  whom  he  had  deceived, 
with  only  the  confession  of  his  own  weak- 
ness. Hard  as  it  was  to  lose  forever  the 
fierce,  reproachful  glances  of  the  woman 


382     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

he  loved,  it  was  still  harder,  to  a  man  of 
Ruth's  temperament,  to  look  again  upon 
the  face  of  the  brother  he  feared.  A  hand 
laid  upon  his  shoulder  startled  him.  It 
was  the  bar-keeper. 

"If  it's  a  fair  question,  Ruth  Pinkney, 
I'd  like  to  ask  ye  how  long  ye  kalkilate  to 
hang  around  the  Ferry  to-day." 

"Why  ?"  demanded  Ruth  haughtily. 

"Because,  whatever  you've  been  and 
done,  I  want  ye  to  have  a  square  show. 
Ole  Nixon  has  been  cavoortin'  round  yer 
the  last  two  days,  swearin'  to  kill  you  on 
sight  for  runnin'  off  with  his  darter. 
Sabe  ?  Now,  let  me  ax  ye  two  questions. 
First,  Are  you  heeled  ?" 

Ruth  responded  to  this  dialectical  in- 
quiry affirmatively  by  putting  his  hand  on 
his  revolver. 

"Good !  Now,  second,  Have  you  got  the 
gal  along  here  with  you  ?" 

"No,"  responded  Ruth  in  a  hollow 
voice. 

"That's  better  yet,"  said  the  man,  with- 
out heeding  the  tone  of  the  reply.  "A 
woman — and  especially  the  woman  in  a 
row  of  this  kind  —  handicaps  a  man 
awful."  He  paused,  and  took  up  the 


THE    CLOUDS   PASS.  383 

empty  glass.  "Look  yer,  Ruth  Pinkney, 
I'm  a  square  man,  and  I'll  be  square  with 
you.  So  I'll  just  tell  you  you've  got  the 
demdest  odds  agin'  ye.  Pr'aps  ye  know 
it,  and  don't  keer.  Well,  the  boys  around 
yer  are  all  sidin'  with  the  old  man  Nixon. 
It's  the  first  time  the  old  rip  ever  had  a 
hand  in  his  favor :  so  the  boys  will  see  fair 
play  for  Mxon,  and  agin'  you.  But  I 
reckon  you  don't  mind  him!" 

"So  little,  I  shall  never  pull  trigger  on 
him,"  said  Ruth  gravely. 

The  bar-keeper  stared,  and  rubbed  his 
chin  thoughtfully.  "Well,  thar's  that 
Kanaka  Joe,  who  used  to  be -sorter  sweet 
on  Mornie, — he's  an  ugly  devil, — he's 
helpin'  the  old  man." 

The  sad  look  faded  from  Ruth's  eyes 
suddenly.  A  certain  wild  Berserker  rage 
— a  taint  of  the  blood,  inherited  from 
heaven  knows  what  Old- World  ancestry, 
which  had  made  the  twin-brothers'  South- 
western eccentricities  respected  in  the  set- 
tlement— glowed  in  its  place.  The  bar- 
keeper noted  it,  and  augured  a  lively  fu- 
ture for  the  day's  festivities.  But  it  faded 
again;  and  Ruth,  as  he  rose,  turned  hesi- 
tatingly towards  him. 


384     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

"Have  you  seen  my  brother  Rand 
lately?" 

"Nary." 

"He  hasn't  been  here,  or  about  the 
Terry?" 

"Nary  time." 

"You  haven't  heard,"  said  Ruth,  with  a 
faint  attempt  at  a  smile,  "if  he's  been 
around  here  asking  after  me, — sorter  look- 
ing me  up,  you  know  ?" 

"Not  much,"  returned  the  bar-keeper 
deliberately.  "Ez  far  ez  I  know  Rand, — 
that  ar  brother  o'  yours, — he's  one  of  yer 
high-toned  chaps  ez  doesn't  drink,  thinks 
bar-rooms  is  pizen,  and  ain't  the  sort  to 
come  round  yer,  and  sling  yarns  with  me." 

Ruth  rose;  but  the  hand  that  he  placed 
upon  the  table,  albeit  a  powerful  one, 
trembled  so  that  it  was  with  difficulty  he 
resumed  his  knapsack.  When  he  did  so, 
his  bent  figure,  stooping  shoulders,  and 
haggard  face,  made  him  appear  another 
man  from  the  one  who  had  sat  down. 
There  was  a  slight  touch  of  apologetic  def- 
erence and  humility  in  his  manner  as  he 
p;iid  his  reckoning,  and  slowly  and  hesi- 
tatingly began  to  descend  the  steps. 

The  bar-keeper  looked  after  him  thought- 


THE    CLOUDS    PASS.  385 

fully.  "Well,  dog  my  skin!"  he  ejacu- 
lated to  himself,  "ef  I  hadn't  seen  that 
man — that  same  Kuth  Pinkney — straddle 
a  friend's  body  in  this  yer  very  room,  and 
dare  a  whole  crowd  to  come  on,  I'd  swar 
that  he  hadn't  any  grit  in  him.  Thar's 
something  up !" 

But  here  Ruth  reached  the  last  step,  and 
turned  again. 

"If  you  see  old  man  Nixon,  say  I'm  in 

town ;  if  you  see  that "  (I 

regret  to  say  that  I  cannot  repeat  his  exact 
and  brief  characterization  of  the  present 
condition  and  natal  antecedents  of  Kanaka 
Joe),  "say  I'm  looking  out  for  him,"  and 
was  gone. 

He  wandered  down  the  road,  towards 
the  one  long,  straggling  street  of  the  set- 
tlement. The  few  people  who  met  him  at 
that  early  hour  greeted  him  with  a  kind  of 
constrained  civility;  certain  cautious  souls 
hurried  by  without  seeing  him ;  all  turned 
and  looked  after  him ;  and  a  few  followed 
him  at  a  respectful  distance.  A  somewhat 
notorious  practical  joker  and  recognized 
wag  at  the  Ferry  apparently  awaited  his 
coming  with  something  of  invitation  and 
expectation,  but,  catching  sight  of  Ruth's 


386     THE  TWINS  OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

haggard  face  and  blazing  eyes,  became  in- 
stantly practical,  and  by  no  means  jocular 
in  his  greeting.  At  the  top  of  the  hill, 
Ruth  turned  to  look  once  more  upon  the 
distant  mountain,  now  again  a  mere  cloud- 
line  on  the  horizon.  In  the  firm  belief 
that  he  would  never  again  see  the  sun  rise 
upon  it,  he  turned  aside  into  a  hazel- 
thicket,  and,  tearing  out  a  few  leaves  from 
his  pocket-book,  wrote  two  letters, — one  to 
Rand,  and  one  to  Mornie,  but  which,  as 
they  were  never  delivered,  shall  not  burden 
this  brief  chronicle  of  that  eventful  day. 
For,  while  transcribing  them,  he  was 
startled  by  the  sounds  of  a  dozen  pistol- 
shots  in  the  direction  of  the  hotel  he  had 
recently  quitted.  Something  in  the  mere 
sound  provoked  the  old  hereditary  fighting 
instinct,  and  sent  him  to  his  feet  with  a 
bound,  and  a  slight  distension  of  the  nos- 
trils, and  sniffing  of  the  air,  not  unknown 
to  certain  men  who  become  half  intoxicated 
by  the  smell  of  powder.  He  quickly 
folded  his  letters,  and  addressed  them  care- 
fully, and,  taking  off  his  knapsack  and 
blanket,  methodically  arranged  them  under 
a  tree,  with  the  letters  on  top.  Then  he 
examined  the  lock  of  his  revolver,  and 


TEE    CLOUDS   PASS.  887 

then,  with  the  step  of  a  man  ten  years 
younger,  leaped  into  the  road.  He  had 
scarcely  done  so  when  he  was  seized,  and 
by  sheer  force  dragged  into  a  blacksmith's 
shop  at  the  roadside.  He  turned  his  sav- 
age face  and  drawn  weapon  upon  his  as- 
sailant, but  was  surprised  to  meet  the 
anxious  eyes  of  the  bar-keeper  of  the  Man- 
sion House. 

"Don't  be  a  d d  fool,"  said  the  man 

quickly.  "Thar's  fifty  agin7  you  down 
thar.  But  why  in  h — 11  didn't  you  wipe 
out  old  Nixon  when  you  had  such  a  good 
chance  ?" 

"Wipe  out  old  Mxon  ?"  repeated  Euth. 

"Yes ;  just  now,  when  you  had  him  cov- 
ered." 

"What  1" 

The  bar-keeper  turned  quickly  upon 
Euth,  stared  at  him,  and  then  suddenly 
burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  "Well,  I've 
knowed  you  two  were  twins,  but  damn  me 
if  I  ever  thought  I'd  be  sold  like  this!" 
And  he  again  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  demanded  Euth 
savagely. 

"What  do  I  mean  ?"  returned  the  bar- 
keeper. "Why,  I  mean  this.  I  mean  that 
v.  24  M— Bret  Harte 


388     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

your  brother  Rand,  as  you  call  him,  he'z 
bin— for  a  young  feller,  and  a  pious  feller 
— doin'  about  the  tallest  kind  o'  fightin' 
to-day  that's  been  done  at  the  Ferry.  He 
laid  out  that  ar  Kanaka  Joe  and  two  of 
his  chums.  He  was  pitched  into  on  your 
quarrel,  and  he  took  it  up  for  you  like  a 
little  man.  I  managed  to  drag  him  off, 
up  yer  in  the  hazel-bush  for  safety,  and 
out  you  pops,  and  I  thought  you  was  him. 
He  can't  be  far  away.  Halloo!  There 
they're  conrin' ;  and  thar's  the  doctor,  try- 
ing to  keep  them  back  1" 

A  crowd  of  angry,  excited  faces,  filled 
the  road  suddenly;  but  before  them 
Dr.  Duchesne,  mounted,  and  with  a 
pistol  in  his  hand,  opposed  their  further 
progress. 

"Back  in  the  bush !"  whispered  the  bar- 
keeper. uNow's  your  time I" 

But  Ruth  stirred  not.  "Go  you  back," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "find  Rand,  and 
take  him  away.  I  will  fill  his  place  here." 
He  drew  his  revolver,  and  stepped  into  the 
road. 

A  shout,  a  report,  and  the  spatter  of  red 
dust  from  a  bullet  near  his  feet,  told  him 
he  was  recognized.  He  stirred  not;  but 


THE   CLOUDS   PAS 8.  889 

another  shout,  and  a  cry,  "There  they  are 
— both  of  'em !"  made  him  turn. 

His  brother  Rand,  with  a  smile  on  his 
lip  and  fire  in  his  eye,  stood  by  his  side. 
Neither  spoke.  Then  Rand,  quietly,  as 
of  old,  slipped  his  hand  into  his  brother's 
strong  palm.  Two  or  three  bullets  sang 
by  them;  a  splinter  flew  from  the  black- 
smith's shed:  but  the  brothers,  hard  grip- 
ping each  other's  hands,  and  looking  into 
each  other's  faces  with  a  quiet  joy,  stood 
there  calm  and  imperturbable. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause.  The 
voice  of  Dr.  Duchesne  rose  above  the 
crowd. 

uKeep  back,  I  say !  keep  back !  Or  hear 
me! — for  five  years  I've  worked  among 
you,  and  mended  and  patched  the  holes 
you've  drilled  through  each  other's  car- 
casses— Keep  back,  I  say! — or  the  next 
man  that  pulls  trigger,  or  steps  forward, 
will  get  a  hole  from  me  that  no  surgeon  can 
stop.  I'm  sick  of  your  bungling  ball  prac- 
tice !  Keep  back !  —  or,  by  the  living 
Jingo,  I'll  show  -you  where  a  man's  vitals 
are !" 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter  from  the 
crowd,  and  for  a  moment  the  twins  were 


390     THE  TWIN 8  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

forgotten  in  this  audacious  speech  and 
coolly  impertinent  presence. 

"That's  right!  Now  let  that  infernal 
old  hypocritical  drunkard,  Mat  Nixon, 
step  to  the  front." 

The  crowd  parted  right  and  left,  and 
half  pushed,  half  dragged  Nixon  before 
him. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  doctor,  "this  is 
the  man  who  has  just  shot  at  Rand  Pink- 
ney  for  hiding  his  daughter.  Now,  I  tell 
you,  gentlemen,  and  I  tell  him,  that  for 
the  last  week  his  daughter,  Mornie 
Nixon,  has  been  under  my  care  as  a  patient, 
and  my  protection  as  a  friend.  If  there's 
anybody  to  be  shot,  the  job  must  begin 
with  me !" 

There  was  another  laugh,  and  a  cry  of 
"Bully  for  old  Sawbones !"  Ruth  started 
convulsively,  and  Rand  answered  his  look 
with  a  confirming  pressure  of  his  hand. 

"That  isn't  all,  gentlemen :  this  drunken 
brute  has  just  shot  at  a  gentleman  whose 
only  offence,  to  my  knowledge,  is,  that  he 
has,  for  the  last  week,  treated  her  with  a 
brother's  kindness,  has  taken  her  into  his 
own  home,  and  cared  for  her  wants  as  if 
she  were  his  own  sister." 


THE    CLOUDS   PA88.  391 

Ruth's  hand  again  grasped  his  brother's. 
Rand  colored  and  hung  his  head. 

"There's  more  yet,  gentlemen.  I  tell 
you  that  that  girl,  Mornie  Nixon,  has,  to 
my  knowledge,  been  treated  like  a  lady,  has 
been  cared  for  as  she  never  was  cared  for 
in  her  father's  house,  and,  while  that  father 
has  been  proclaiming  her  shame  in  every 
bar-room  at  the  Ferry,  has  had  the  sympa- 
thy and  care,  night  and  day,  of  two  of  the 
most  accomplished  ladies  of  the  Ferry, — 
Mrs.  Sol  Saunders,  gentlemen,  and  Miss 
Euphemia." 

There  was  a  shout  of  approbation  from 
the  crowd.  Nixon  would  have  slipped 
away,  but  the  doctor  stopped  him. 

"]STot  yet!  I've  one  thing  more  to  say. 
I've  to  tell  you,  gentlemen,  on  my  profes- 
sional word  of  honor,  that,  besides  being  an 
old  hypocrite,  this  same  old  Mat  Nixon  is 
the  ungrateful,  unnatural  grandfather  of 
the  first  boy  born  in  the  district." 

A  wild  huzza  greeted  the  doctor's  cli- 
max. By  a  common  consent  the  crowd 
turned  toward  the  Twins,  who,  grasping 
each  other's  hands,  stood  apart.  The  doc- 
tor nodded  his  head.  The  next  moment 
the  Twins  were  surrounded,  and  lifted  in 


392     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

the  arms  of  the  laughing  throng,  and  borne 
in  triumph  to  the  bar-room  of  the  Mansion 
House. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  bar-keeper,  "call 
for  what  you  like:  the  Mansion  House 
treats  to-day  in  honor  of  its  being  the  first 
time  that  Rand  Pinkney  has  been  admitted 
to  the  bar." 


It  was  agreed,  that,  as  her  condition  was 
still  precarious,  the  news  should  be  broken 
to  her  gradually  and  indirectly.  The  in- 
defatigable Sol  had  a  professional  idea, 
which  was  not  displeasing  to  the  Twins. 
It  being  a  lovely  summer  afternoon,  the 
couch  of  Mornie  was  lifted  out  on  the 
ledge,  and  she  lay  there  basking  in  the  sun- 
light, drinking  in  the  pure  air,  and  looking 
bravely  ahead  in  the  daylight  as  she  had 
in  the  darkness,  for  her  couch  commanded 
a  view  of  the  mountain  flank.  And,  lying 
there,  she  dreamed  a  pleasant  dream,  and 
in  her  dream  saw  Rand' returning  up  the 
mountain-trail.  She  was  half  conscious 
that  he  had  good  news  for  her ;  and,  when 
he  at  last  reached  her  bedside,  he  began 
gently  and  kindly  to  tell  his  news.  But 


THE    CLOUDS   PA88.  893 

she  heard  him  not,  or  rather  in  her  dream 
was  most  occupied  with  his  ways  and  man- 
ners, which  seemed  unlike  him,  yet  inex- 
pressibly sweet  and  tender.  The  tears 
were  fast  coming  in  her  eyes,  when  he  sud- 
denly dropped  on  his  knees  beside  her, 
threw  away  Rand's  disguising  hat  and  coat, 
and  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  And  by  that 
she  knew  it  was  Ruth. 

But  what  they  said ;  what  hurried  words 
of  mutual  explanation  and  forgiveness 
passed  between  them ;  what  bitter  yet  ten- 
der recollections  of  hidden  fears  and 
doubts,  now  forever  chased  away  in  the 
rain  of  tears  and  joyous  sunshine  of  that 
mountain-top,  were  then  whispered ;  what- 
ever of  this  little  chronicle  that  to  the 
reader  seems  strange  and  inconsistent  (as 
all  human  record  must  ever  be  strange  and 
imperfect,  except  to  the  actors)  was  then 
made  clear, — was  never  divulged  by  them, 
and  must  remain  with  them  forever.  The 
rest  of  the  party  had  withdrawn,  and  they 
were  alone.  But  when  Mornie  turned, 
and  placed  the  baby  in  its  father's  arms, 
they  were  so  isolated  in  their  happiness, 
that  the  lower  world  beneath  them  might 
have  swung  and  drifted  away,  and  left  that 


394     THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN. 

mountain-top  the  beginning  and  creation 
of  a  better  planet. 

"You  know  all  about  it  now,"  said  Sol 
the  next  day,  explaining  the  previous  epi- 
sodes of  this  history  to  Kuth:  "you've  got 
the  whole  plot  before  you.  It  dragged  a 
little  in  the  second  act,  for  the  actors 
weren't  up  in  their  parts.  But  for  an  am- 
ateur performance,  on  the  whole,  it  wasn't 
bad." 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  Rand 
impulsively,  uhow  we'd  have  got  on  with- 
out Euphemia.  It's  too  bad  she  couldn't 
be  here  to-day." 

"She  wanted  to  come,"  said  Sol;  "but 
the  gentleman  she's  engaged  to  came  up 
from  Marysville  last  night." 

"Gentleman — engaged !"  repeated  Rand, 
white  and  red  by  turns. 

"Well,  yes.  I  say,  'gentleman,'  al- 
though he's  in  the  variety  profession.  She 
always  said,"  said  Sol,  quietly  looking  at 
Rand,  "that  she'd  never  marry  out  of  it" 


AN  HEIEESS  OF  BED  DOG. 

THE  first  intimation  given  of  the  eccen- 
tricity of  the  testator  was,  I  think,  in  the 
spring  of  1854.  He  was  at  that  time  in 
possession  of  a  considerable  property, 
heavily  mortgaged  to  one  friend,  and  a 
wife  of  some  attraction,  on  whose  affections 
another  friend  held  an  encumbering  lien. 
One  day  it  was  found  that  he  had  secretly 
dug,  or  caused  to  be  dug,  a  deep  trap  be- 
fore the  front-door  of  his  dwelling,  into 
which  a  few  friends,  in  the  course  of  the 
evening,  casually  and  familiarly  dropped. 
This  circumstance,  slight  in  itself,  seemed 
to  point  to  the  existence  of  a  certain  humor 
in  the  man,  which  might  eventually  get 
into  literature,  although  his  wife's  lover — 
a  man  of  quick  discernment,  whose  leg  was 
broken  by  the  fall — took  other  views.  It 
was  some  weeks  later,  that,  while  dining 
with  certain  other  friends  of  his  wife,  he 
excused  himself  from  the  table  to  quietly 


396         AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED   DOG. 

re-appear  at  the  front-window  with  a  three- 
quarter  inch  hydraulic  pipe,  and  a  stream 
of  water  projected  at  the  assembled  com- 
pany. An  attempt  was  made  to  take  pub- 
lic cognizance  of  this ;  but  a  majority  of 
the  citizens  of  Red  Dog,  who  were  not  at 
dinner,  decided  that  a  man  had  a  right  to 
choose  his  own  methods  of  diverting  his 
company.  Nevertheless,  there  were  some 
hints  of  his  insanity ;  his  wife  recalled 
other  acts  clearly  attributable  to  dementia; 
the  crippled  lover  argued  from  his  own  ex- 
perience that  the  integrity  of  her  limbs 
could  only  be  secured  by  leaving  her  hus- 
band's house;  and  the  mortgagee,  fearing 
a  further  damage  to  his  property,  fore- 
closed. But  here  the  cause  of  all  this 
anxiety  took  matters  into  his  own  hands, 
and  disappeared. 

When  we  next  heard  from  him,  he  had, 
in  some  mysterious  way,  been  relieved 
alike  of  his  wife  and  property,  and  was 
living  alone  at  Rockville  fifty  miles  away, 
and  editing  a  newspaper.  But  that  origi- 
nality he  had  displayed  when  dealing  with 
the  problems  of  his  own  private  life,  when 
applied  to  politics  in  the  columns  of  "The 
Rockville  Vanguard"  was  singularly  un- 


AN    HEIRESS    OF    RED    DOG.         397 

successful.  An  amusing  exaggeration,  pur- 
porting to  be  an  exact  account  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  opposing  candidate  had 
murdered  his  Chinese  laundryman,  was,  I 
regret  to  say,  answered  only  by  assault  and 
battery.  A  gratuitous  and  purely  imagi- 
native description  of  a  great  religious  re- 
vival in  Calaveras,  in  which  the  sheriff  of 
the  county — a  notoriously  profane  sceptic 
— was  alleged  to  have  been  the  chief  ex- 
horter,  resulted  only  in  the  withdrawal  of 
the  county  advertising  from  the  paper.  In 
the  midst  of  this  practical  confusion  he 
suddenly  died.  It  was  then  discovered,  as 
a  crowning  proof  of  his  absurdity,  that  he 
had  left  a  will,  bequeathing  his  entire  ef- 
fects to  a  freckle-faced  maid-servant  at  the 
Eockville  Hotel.  But  that  absurdity  be- 
came serious  when  it  was  also  discovered 
that  among  these  effects  were  a  thousand 
shares  in  the  Rising  Sun  Mining  Com- 
pany, which  a  day  or  two  after  his  demise, 
and  while  people  were  still  laughing  at  his 
grotesque  benefaction,  suddenly  sprang 
into  opulence  and  celebrity.  Three  mil- 
lions of  dollars  was  roughly  estimated  as 
the  value  of  the  estate  thus  wantonly  sac- 
rificed. For  it  is  only  fair  to  state,  as  a 


398         A.N    HEIRESS    OF   RED    DOG. 

just  tribute  to  the  enterprise  and  energy  of 
that  young  and  thriving  settlement,  that 
there  was  not  probably  a  single  citizen  who 
did  not  feel  himself  better  able  to  control 
the  deceased  humorist's  property.  Some 
had  expressed  a  doubt  of  their  ability  to 
support  a  family;  others  had  felt  perhaps 
too  keenly  the  deep  responsibility  resting 
upon  them  when  chosen  from  the  panel  as 
jurors,  and  had  evaded  their  public  duties ; 
a  few  had  declined  office  and  a  low  salary : 
but  no  one  shrank  from  the  possibility  of 
having  been  called  upon  to  assume  the 
functions  of  Peggy  Moffat,  the  heiress. 

The  will  was  contested, — first  by  the 
widow,  who  it  now  appeared  had  never 
been  legally  divorced  from  the  deceased; 
next  by  four  of  his  cousins,  who  awoke, 
only  too  late,  to  a  consciousness  of  his 
moral  and  pecuniary  worth.  But  the 
humble  legatee — a  singularly  plain,  un- 
pretending, uneducated  Western  girl — ex- 
hibited a  dogged  pertinacity  in  claiming 
her  rights.  She  rejected  all  compromises. 
A  rough  sense  of  justice  in  the  community, 
while  doubting  her  ability  to  take  care  of 
the  whole  fortune,  suggested  that  she  ought 
to  be  content  with  three  hundred  thousand 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG.         399 

dollars.  "She's  bound  to  throw  even  that 
away  on  some  derned  skunk  of  a  man, 
natoorally;  but  three  millions  is  too  much 
to  give  a  chap  for  makin'  her  onhappy. 
It's  offerin'  a  temptation  to  cussedness." 
The  only  opposing  voice  to  this  counsel 
came  from  the  sardonic  lips  of  Mr.  Jack 
Hamlin.  "Suppose,"  suggested  that  gen- 
tleman, turning  abruptly  on  the  speaker, — 
"suppose,  when  you  won  twenty  thousand 
dollars  of  me  last  Friday  night — suppose 
that,  instead  of  handing  you  over  the 
money  as  I  did — suppose  I'd  got  up  on  my 
hind-legs,  and  said,  'Look  yer,  Bill  Weth- 

ersbee,  you're  a  d d  fool.     If  I  give 

ye  that  twenty  thousand,  you'll  throw  it 
away  in  the  first  skin-game  in  'Frisco,  and 
hand  it  over  to  the  first  short-card  sharp 
you'll  meet.  There's  a  thousand, — enough 
for  you  to  fling  away, — take  it  and  get !' 
Suppose  what  I'd  said  to  you  was  the 
frozen  truth,  and  you  know'd  it,  would 
that  have  been  the  square  thing  to  play  on 
you?"  But  here  Wethersbee  quickly 
pointed  out  the  inefficiency  of  the  compar- 
ison by  stating  that  he  had  won  the  money 
fairly  with  a  stake.  "And  how  do  you 
know,"  demanded  Hamlin  savagely,  bend- 


400         AN    HEIRESS    OF    RED   DOG. 

ing  his  black  eyes  on  the  astounded  casu- 
ist,— "how  do  you  know  that  the  gal  hezn't 
put  down  a  stake  ?"  The  man  stammered 
an  unintelligible  reply.  The  gambler  laid 
his  white  hand  on  Wethersbee's  shoulder. 
"Look  yer,  old  man,"  he  said,  "every  gal 
stakes  her  whole  pile, — you  can  bet  your 
life  on  that, — whatever's  her  little  game. 
If  she  took  to  keerds  instead  of  her  feel- 
ings, if  she'd  put  up  'chips7  instead  o'  body 
and  soul,  she'd  bust  every  bank  'twixt  this 
and  'Frisco !  You  hear  me  ?" 

Somewhat  of  this  idea  was  conveyed,  I 
fear  not  quite  as  sentimentally,  to  Peggy 
Moffat  herself.  The  best  legal  wisdom  of 
San  Francisco,  retained  by  the  widow  and 
relatives,  took  occasion,  in  a  private  inter- 
view with  Peggy,  to  point  out  that  she 
stood  in  the  quasi-criminal  attitude  of  hav- 
ing unlawfully  practised  upon  the  affec- 
tions of  an  insane  elderly  gentleman,  with 
a  view  of  getting  possession  of  his  prop- 
erty, and  suggested  to  her  that  no  vestige 
of  her  moral  character  would  remain  after 
the  trial,  if  she  persisted  in  forcing  her 
claims  to  that  issue.  It  is  said  that  Peggy, 
on  hearing  this,  stopped  washing  the  plate 
she  had  in  her  hands,  and,  twisting  the 


AN   HEIRESS  OF  RED  DOG.         401 

towel  around  her  fingers,  fixed  her  small 
pale  blue  eyes  at  the  lawyer. 

uAnd  ez  that  the  kind  o'  chirpin  these 
critters  keep  up  ?" 

"I  regret  to  say,  my  dear  young  lady," 
responded  the  lawyer,  "that  the  world  is 
censorious.  I  must  add,"  he  continued, 
with  engaging  frankness,  "that  we  profes- 
sional lawyers  are  apt  to  study  the  opinion 
of  the  world,  and  that  such  will  be  the 
theory  of — our  side." 

"Then,"  said  Peggy  stoutly,  "ez  I  allow 
I've  got  to  go  into  court  to  defend  my 
character,  I  might  as  well  pack  in  them 
three  millions  too." 

There  is  hearsay  evidence  that  Peg 
added  to  this  speech  a  wish  and  desire  to 
"bust  the  crust"  of  her  traducers,  and,  re- 
marking that  "that  was  the  kind  of  hair- 
pin" she  was,  closed  the  conversation  with 
an  unfortunate  accident  to  the  plate,  that 
left  a  severe  contusion  on  the  legal  brow  of 
her  companion.  But  this  story,  popular 
in  the  bar-rooms  and  gulches,  lacked  con- 
firmation in  higher  circles.  Better  au- 
thenticated was  the  legend  related  of  an 
interview  with  her  own  lawyer.  That 
gentleman  had  pointed  out  to  her  the  ad- 


402         AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG. 

vantage  of  being  able  to  show  some  reason- 
able cause  for  the  singular  generosity  of 
the  testator. 

"Although,"  he  continued,  "the  law  does 
not  go  back  of  the  will  for  reason  or  cause 
for  its  provisions,  it  would  be  a  strong 
point  with  the  judge  and  jury — particu- 
larly if  the  theory  of  insanity  were  set  up 
— for  us  to  show  that  the  act  was  logical 
and  natural.  Of  course  you  have  —  I 
speak  confidently,  Miss  Moffat — certain 
ideas  of  your  own  why  the  late  Mr.  By- 
ways was  so  singularly  generous  to  you." 

"No,  I  haven't,"  said  Peg  decidedly. 

"Think  again.  Had  he  not  expressed 
to  you — you  understand  that  this  is  confi- 
dential between  us,  although  I  protest,  my 
dear  young  lady,  that  I  see  no  reason  why 
it  should  not  be  made  public — had  he  not 
given  utterance  to  sentiments  of  a  nature 
consistent  with  some  future  matrimonial 
relations?"  But  here  Miss  Peg's  large 
mouth,  which  had  been  slowly  relaxing 
over  her  irregular  teeth,  stopped  him. 

"If  you  mean  he  wanted  to  marry  me — 
No!" 

"I  see.  But  were  there  any  condi- 
tions— of  course  you  know  the  law  takes 


AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED   DOG.         403 

no  cognizance  of  any  not  expressed  in  the 
will ;  but  still,  for  the  sake  of  mere  corrob- 
oration  of  the  bequest — do  you  know  of 
any  conditions  on  which  he  gave  you  the 
property  ?" 

"You  mean  did  he  want  anything  in 
return  ?" 

"Exactly,  my  dear  young  lady." 

Peg's  face  on  one  side  turned  a  deep 
magenta  color,  on  the  other  a  lighter 
cherry,  while  her  nose  was  purple,  and 
her  forehead  an  Indian  red.  To  add  to  the 
effect  of  this  awkward  and  discomposing 
dramatic  exhibition  of  embarrassment,  she 
began  to  wipe  her  hands  on  her  dress,  and 
sat  silent. 

"I  understand/'  said  the  lawyer  hastily. 
"No  matter  —  the  conditions  were  ful- 
filled." 

"No!"  said  Peg  amazedly.  "How 
could  they  be  until  he  was  dead  ?" 

It  was  the  lawyer's  turn  to  color  and 
grow  embarrassed. 

"He  did  say  something,  and  make  some 
conditions,"  continued  Peg,  with  a  certain 
firmness  through  her  awkwardness ;  "but 
that's  nobody's  business  but  mine  and 
his'n.  And  it's  no  call  o'  yours  or  theirs." 


404        AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG. 

fa 

"But,  my  dear  Miss  Moffat,   if  these 

very  conditions  were  proofs  of  his  right 
mind,  you  surely  would  not  object  to  make 
them  known,  if  only  to  enable  you  to  put 
yourself  in  a  condition  to  carry  them  out." 

"But/7  said  Peg  cunningly,  "s'pose  you 
and  the  Court  didn't  think  'em  satisfac- 
tory? S'pose  you  thought  ?em  queer  ? 
Eh>' 

With  this  helpless  limitation  on  the  part 
of  the  defence,  the  case  came  to  trial. 
Everybody  remembers  it,  —  how  for  six 
weeks  it  was  the  daily  food  of  Calaveras 
County ;  how  for  six  weeks  the  intellectual 
and  moral  and  spiritual  competency  of  Mr. 
James  Byways  to  dispose  of  his  property 
was  discussed  with  learned  and  formal  ob- 
scurity in  the  court,  and  with  unlettered 
and  independent  prejudice  by  camp-fires 
and  in  bar-rooms.  At  the  end  of  that 
time,  when  it  was  logically  established 
that  at  least  nine-tenths  of  the  population 
of  Calaveras  were  harmless  lunatics,  and 
everybody  else's  reason  seemed  to  totter  on 
its  throne,  an  exhausted  jury  succumbed 
one  day  to  the  presence  of  Peg  in  the 
court-room.  It  was  not  a  prepossessing 
presence  at  any  time;  but  the  excitement, 


AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED   DOG.         406 

and  an  injudicious  attempt  to  .ornament 
herself,  brought  her  defects  into  a  glaring 
relief  that  was  almost  unreal.  Every 
freckle  on  her  face  stood  out  and  asserted 
itself  singly ;  her  pale  blue  eyes,  that  gave 
no  indication  of  her  force  of  character, 
were  weak  and  wandering,  or  stared 
blankly  at  the  judge ;  her  over-sized  head, 
broad  at  the  base,  terminating  in  the  scanti- 
est possible  light-colored  braid  in  the  mid- 
dle of  her  narrow  shoulders,  was  as  hard 
and  uninteresting  as  the  wooden  spheres 
that  topped  the  railing  against  which  she 
sat 

The  jury,  who  for  six  weeks  had  had 
her  described  to  them  by  the  plaintiffs  as 
an  arch,  wily  enchantress,  who  had  sapped 
the  failing  reason  of  Jim  Byways,  revolted 
to  a  man.  There  was  something  so  ap- 
pallingly gratuitous  in  her  plainness,  that 
it  was  felt  that  three  millions  was  scarcely 
a  compensation  for  it.  "Ef  that  money 
was  give  to  her,  she  earned  it  sure,  boys: 
it  wasn't  no  softness  of  the  old  man,"  said 
the  foreman.  When  the  jury  retired,  it 
was  felt  that  she  had  cleared  her  character : 
when  they  re-entered  the  room  with  their 
verdict,  it  was  known  that  she  had  been 


406      AV  urnum*  of  RBD 


awarded  Jhree  millions  damages  for  ite 
defamation, 

She  got  the  money.  But  those  who  had 
confidently  expected  to  see  her  squander  it 
were  disappointed  \  on  the  contrary,  it  was 
presently  whispered  that  she  was  rttflMd" 
ingly  penurious.  That  admirable  woman, 
Mrs.  Stiver  of  Red  Dog,  who  accompanied 
her  to  San  Francisco  to  assist  her  in  mak- 
ing purchases,  was  loud  in  her  indignation. 
"She  cares  more  for  two  bits'  than  I  do  for 
fire  dollars.  She  wouldn't  buy  anything 
at  the  'City  of  Paris/  because  it  was  'too 
expensive/  and  at  last  rigged  herself  out,  a 
perfect  guy,  at  some  cheap  slop-shops  in 
Market  Street,  And  after  all  the  care 
Jane  and  me  took  of  her,  giving  up  our 
time  and  experience  to  her,  she  never  so 
much  a*  made  Jane  a  single  present" 
Popular  opinion,  which  regarded  Mrs. 
Stiver's  attention  as  purely  speculative, 
was  not  shocked  at  thi-  -  dk 

nrtiMmtnt;  but  when  Peg  refused  to  give 
anything  to  clear  the  mortgage  off  the  new 
Pl^tryterian  '  '1  ever* 

to  take  *h*r<~  Jr.. 

•••any  an  an  <<p0)ly  sacred  and  safe 


*.    *tH  k^  UkJt  ^k.Mh..Vw\.          ,.  h.  M.          ^^»kfe^  ^bM^k^Jk 

<  V  v       x  v  '         w   .  \ 

tv>  ta»  frxy* 
tx^  T^  *&  wjM^ftw*^  \x\ 


\H 


xKv^k  y\C 


408         AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED   DOG. 

That  handsome,  graceless  vagabond  had 
struck  the  outskirts  of  Ked  Dog  in  a  cy- 
clone of  dissipation  which  left  him  a 
stranded  but  still  rather  interesting  wreck 
in  a  ruinous  cabin  not  far  from  Peg 
MofTat's  virgin  bower.  Pale,  crippled 
from  excesses,  with  a  voice  quite  tremulous 
from  sympathetic  emotion  more  or  less  de- 
veloped by  stimulants,  he  lingered  lan- 
guidly, with  much  time  on  his  hands,  and 
only  a  few  neighbors.  In  this  fascinating 
kind  of  general  deshabille  of  morals,  dress, 
and  the  emotions,  he  appeared  before  Peg 
Moffat.  More  than  that,  he  occasionally 
limped  with  her  through  the  settlement. 
The  critical  eye  of  Red  Dog  took  in  the 
singular  pair, — -Jack,  voluble,  suffering,  ap- 
parently overcome  by  remorse,  conscience, 
vituperation,  and  disease;  and  Peg,  open- 
mouthed,  high-colored,  awkward,  yet  de- 
lighted; and  the  critical  eye  of  Eed  Dog, 
seeing  this,  winked  meaningly  at  Rock- 
ville.  ISTo  one  knew  what  passed  between 
them;  but  all  observed  that  one  summer 
day  Jack  drove  down  the  main  street  of 
Red  Dog  in  an  open  buggy,  with  the  heiress 
of  that  town  beside  him.  Jack,  albeit  a 
trifle  shaky,  held  the  reins  with  something 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED    DOG.         409 

of  his  old  dash ;  and  Mistress  Peggy,  in  an 
enormous  bonnet  with  pearl-colored  rib- 
bons a  shade  darker  than  her  hair,  holding 
in  her  short,  pink-gloved  fingers  a  bouquet 
of  yellow  roses,  absolutely  glowed  crim- 
son in  distressful  gratification  over  the 
dash-board.  So  these  two  fared  on,  out  of 
the  busy  settlement,  into  the  woods,  against 
the  rosy  sunset.  Possibly  it  was  not  a 
pretty  picture:  nevertheless,  as  the  dim 
aisles  of  the  solemn  pines  opened  to  receive 
them,  miners  leaned  upon  their  spades,  and 
mechanics  stopped  in  their  toil  to  look 
after  them.  The  critical  eye  of  Red  Dog, 
perhaps  from  the  sun,  perhaps  from  the 
fact  that  it  had  itself  once  been  young  and 
dissipated,  took  on  a  kindly  moisture  as  it 
gazed. 

The  moon  was  high  when  they  returned. 
Those  who  had  waited  to  congratulate  Jack 
on  this  near  prospect  of  a  favorable  change 
in  his  fortunes  were  chagrined  to  find, 
that,  having  seen  the  lady  safe  home,  he 
had  himself  departed  from  Red  Dog. 
Nothing  was  to  be  gained  from  Peg,  who, 
on  the  next  day  and  ensuing  days,  kept  the 
even  tenor  of  her  way,  sunk  a  thousand  or 
two  more  in  unsuccessful  speculation,  and 


410         AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED    DOG. 

made  no  change  in  her  habits  of  personal 
economy.  Weeks  passed  without  any  ap- 
parent sequel  to  this  romantic  idyl.  Noth- 
ing was  known  definitely  until  Jack,  a 
month  later,  turned  up  in  Sacramento,  with 
a  billiard-cue  in  his  hand,  and  a  heart 
overcharged  with  indignant  emotion.  "I 
don't  mind  saying  to  you,  gentlemen,  in 
confidence,"  said  Jack  to  a  circle  of  sympa- 
thizing players, — "I  don't  mind  telling 
you  regarding  this  thing,  that  I  was  as 
soft  on  that  freckled-faced,  red-eyed,  tal- 
low-haired gal,  as  if  she'd  been — a — a — an 
actress.  And  I  don't  mind  saying,  gentle- 
men, that,  as  far  as  I  understand  women, 
she  was  just  as  soft  on  me.  You  kin 
laugh ;  but  it's  so.  One  day  I  took  her 
out  buggy-riding, — in  style,  too, — and  out 
on  the  road  I  offered  to  do  the  square 
thing,  just  as  if  she'd  been  a  lady, — offered 
to  marry  her  then  and  there.  And  what 
did  she  do?"  said  Jack  with  a  hysterical 
laugh.  "Why,  blank  it  all!  offered  me 
twenty-five  dollars  a  week  allowance — pay 
to  be  stopped  when  I  wasn't  at  home!" 
The  roar  of  laughter  that  greeted  this 
frank  confession  was  broken  by  a  quiet 
voice  asking,  "And  what  did  you  say  ?" — 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG.         411 

"Say  ?"  screamed  Jack,  "I  just  told  her  to 

go    to    with    her   money." — "They 

say,"  continued  the  quiet  voice,  "that  you 
asked  her  for  the  loan  of  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  to  get  you  to  Sacramento — 
and  that  you  got  it." — "Who  says  so?" 
roared  Jack.  "Show  me  the  blank  liar." 
There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  the 
possessor  of  the  quiet  voice,  Mr.  Jack 
Hamlin,  languidly  reached  under  the 
table,  took  the  chalk,  and,  rubbing  the 
end  of  his  billiard-cue,  began  with  gentle 
gravity :  "It  was  an  old  friend  of  mine  in 
Sacramento,  a  man  with  a  wooden  leg,  a 
game  eye,  three  fingers  on  his  right  hand, 
and  a  consumptive  cough.  Being  unable, 
naturally,  to  back  himself,  he  leaves  things 
to  me.  So,  for  the  sake  of  argument," 
continued  Hamlin,  suddenly  laying  down 
his  cue,  and  fixing  his  wicked  black  eyes 
on  the  speaker,  "say  it's  me!" 

I  am  afraid  that  this  story,  whether 
truthful  or  not,  did  not  tend  to  increase 
Peg's  popularity  in  a  community  where 
recklessness  and  generosity  condoned  for 
the  absence  of  all  the  other  virtues ;  and  it 
is  possible,  also,  that  Red  Dog  was  no  more 
free  from  prejudice  than  other  more  civ- 


412         AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED   DOG. 

ilized  but  equally  disappointed  match- 
makers. Likewise,  during  the  following 
year,  she  made  several  more  foolish  ven- 
tures, and  lost  heavily.  In  fact,  a  feverish 
desire  to  increase  her  store  at  almost  any 
risk  seemed  to  possess  her.  At  last  it  was 
announced  that  she  intended  to  reopen  the 
infelix  Rockville  Hotel,  and  keep  it  her- 
self. 

Wild  as  this  scheme  appeared  in  theory, 
when  put  into  practical  operation  there 
seemed  to  be  some  chance  of  success. 
Much,  doubtless,  was  owing  to  her  practi- 
cal knowledge  of  hotel-keeping,  but  more 
to  her  rigid  economy  and  untiring  in- 
dustry. The  mistress  of  millions,  she 
cooked,  washed,  waited  on  table,  made  the 
beds,  and  labored  like  a  common  menial. 
Visitors  were  attracted  by  this  novel  spec- 
tacle. The  income  of  the  house  increased 
as  their  respect  for  the  hostess  lessened. 
No  anecdote  of  her  avarice  was  too  ex- 
travagant for  current  belief.  It  was  even 
alleged  that  she  had  been  known  to  carry 
the  luggage  of  guests  to  their  rooms,  that 
she  might  anticipate  the  usual  porter's 
gratuity.  She  denied  herself  the  ordinary 
necessaries  of  life.  She  was  poorly  clad, 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG.         413 

she  was  ill-fed — but  the  hotel  was  making 
money. 

A  few  hinted  of  insanity;  others  shook 
their  heads,  and  said  a  curse  was  entailed 
on  the  property.  It  was  believed,  also, 
from  her  appearance,  that  she  could  not 
long  survive  this  tax  on  her  energies,  and 
already  there  was  discussion  as  to  the 
probable  final  disposition  of  her  property. 

It  was  the  particular  fortune  of  Mr. 
Jack  Hamlin  to  be  able  to  set  the  world 
right  on  this  and  other  questions  regarding 
her. 

A  stormy  December  evening  had  set  in 
when  he  chanced  to  be  a  guest  of  the  Rock- 
ville  Hotel.  He  had,  during  the  past 
week,  been  engaged  in  the  prosecution  of 
his  noble  profession  at  Red  Dog,  and  had, 
in  the  graphic  language  of  a  coadjutor, 
"cleared  out  the  town,  except  his  fare  in 
the  pockets  of  the  stage-driver."  "The 
Red  Dog  Standard"  had  bewailed  his  de- 
parture in  playful  obituary  verse,  begin- 
ning, "Dearest  Johnny,  thou  hast  left 
us,"  wherein  the  rhymes  "bereft  us"  and 
"deplore"  carried  a  vague  allusion  to  "a 
thousand  dollars  more."  A  quiet  content- 
ment naturally  suffused  his  personality, 


414         AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG. 

and  he  was  more  than  usually  lazy  and  de- 
liberate in  his  speech.  At  midnight,  when 
he  was  about  to  retire,  he  was  a  little  sur- 
prised, however,  by  a  tap  on  his  door,  fol- 
lowed by  the  presence  of  Mistress  Peg 
Moffat,  heiress,  and  landlady  of  Eockville 
Hotel. 

Mr.  Hamlin,  despite  his  previous  de- 
fence of  Peg,  had  no  liking  for  her.  His 
fastidious  taste  rejected  her  uncomeliness ; 
his  habits  of  thought  and  life  were  all  an- 
tagonistic to  what  he  had  heard  of  her  nig- 
gardliness and  greed.  As  she  stood  there, 
in  a  dirty  calico  wrapper,  still  redolent 
with  the  day's  cuisine,  crimson  with  em- 
barrassment and  the  recent  heat  of  the 
kitchen  range,  she  certainly  was  not  an  al- 
luring apparition.  Happily  for  the  late- 
ness of  the  hour,  her  loneliness,  and  the 
infelix  reputation  of  the  man  before  her, 
she  was  at  least  a  safe  one.  And  I  fear 
the  very  consciousness  of  this  scarcely  re- 
lieved her  embarrassment. 

"I  wanted  to  say  a  few  words  to  ye 
alone,  Mr.  Hamlin,"  she  began,  taking  an 
unoffered  seat  on  the  end  of  his  portman- 
teau, "or  I  shouldn't  hev  intruded.  But 
it's  the  only  time  I  can  ketch  you,  or  you 


AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED    DOG.         415 

me ;  for  I'm  down  in  the  kitchen  from  sun- 
up till  now." 

She  stopped  awkwardly,  as  if  to  listen 
to  the  wind,  which  was  rattling  the 
windows,  and  spreading  a  film  of  rain 
against  the  opaque  darkness  without. 
Then,  smoothing  her  wrapper  over  her 
knees,  she  remarked,  as  if  opening  a  des- 
ultory conversation,  "Thar's  a  power  of 
rain  outside." 

Mr.  Hamlin's  only  response  to  this 
meteorological  observation  was  a  yawn,  and 
a  preliminary  tug  at  his  coat  as  he  began 
to  remove  it. 

"I  thought  ye  couldn't  mind  doin'  me  a 
favor,"  continued  Peg,  with  a  hard,  awk- 
ward laugh,  "partik'ly  seein'  ez  folks  al- 
lowed you'd  sorter  bin  a  friend  o'  mine, 
and  hed  stood  up  for  me  at  times  when  you 
hedn't  any  partikler  call  to  do  it.  I 
hevn't"  she  continued,  looking  down  on 
her  lap,  and  following  with  her  finger  and 
thumb  a  seam  of  her  gown, — "I  hevn't  so 
many  friends  ez  slings  a  kind  word  for  me 
these  times  that  I  disremember  them." 
Her  under  lip  quivered  a  little  here ;  and, 
after  vainly  hunting  for  a  forgotten  hand- 
kerchief, she  finally  lifted  the  hem  of  her 


416        AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG. 

gown,  wiped  her  snub  nose  upon  it,  but 
left  the  tears  still  in  her  eyes  as  she  raised 
them  to  the  man, 

Mr.  Hamlin,  who  had  by  this  time  di- 
vested himself  of  his  coat,  stopped  unbut- 
toning his  waistcoat,  and  looked  at  her. 

''Like  ez  not  thar'll  be  high  water  on  the 
North  Fork,  ef  this  rain  keeps  on,"  said 
Peg,  as  if  apologetically,  looking  toward 
the  window. 

The  other  rain  having  ceased,  Mr.  Ham- 
lin began  to  unbutton  his  waistcoat  again. 

"I  wanted  to  ask  ye  a  favor  about  Mr. — 
about — Jack  Folinsbee,"  began  Peg  again 
hurriedly.  "He's  ailin'  agin,  and  is 
mighty  low.  And  he's  losin'  a  heap  o' 
money  here  and  thar,  and  mostly  to  you. 
You  cleaned  him  out  of  two  thousand  dol- 
lars last  night — all  he  had." 

"Well  ?"  said  the  gambler  coldly. 

"Well,  I  thought  ez  you  woz  a  friend  o' 
mine,  I'd  ask  ye  to  let  up  a  little  on  him," 
said  Peg,  with  an  affected  laugh.  "You 
kin  do  it.  Don't  let  him  play  with  ye." 

"Mistress  Margaret  Moffat,"  said  Jack, 
with  lazy  deliberation,  taking  off  his  watch, 
and  beginning  to  wind  it  up,  "ef  you're 
that  much  stuck  after  Jack  Folinsbee,  you 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG.         417 

kin  keep  him  off  of  me  much  easier  than  I 
kin.  You're  a  rich  woman.  Give  him 
enough  money  to  break  my  bank,  or  break 
himself  for  good  and  all;  but  don't  keep 
him  forlin'  round  me  in  hopes  to  make  a 
raise.  It  don't  pay,  Mistress  Moffat — it 
don't  pay !" 

A  finer  nature  than  Peg's  would  have 
misunderstood  or  resented  the  gambler's 
slang,  and  the  miserable  truths  that  under- 
laid it.  But  she  comprehended  him  in- 
stantly, and  sat  hopelessly  silent, 

"Ef  you'll  take  my  advice,"  continued 
Jack,  placing  his  watch  and  chain  under 
his  pillow,  and  quietly  unloosing  his  cra- 
vat, "you'll  quit  this  yer  forlin',  marry 
that  chap,  and  hand  over  to  him  the  money 
and  the  money-makin'  that's  killin'  you. 
He'll  get  rid  of  it  soon  enough.  I  don't 
say  this  because  /  expect  to  git  it;  for, 
when  he's  got  that  much  of  a  raise,  he'll 
make  a  break  for  'Frisco,  and  lose  it  to 
some  first-class  sport  there.  I  don't  say, 
neither,  that  you  mayn't  be  in  luck  enough 
to  reform  him.  I  don't  say,  neither-— and 
it's  a  denied  sight  more  likely! — that  you 
mayn't  be  luckier  yet,  and  he'll  up  and  die 
afore  he  gits  rid  of  your  money.  But  I  do 


418         AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG. 

say  you'll  make  him  happy  now;  and,  ez  I 
reckon  you're  about  ez  badly  stuck  after 
that  chap  ez  I  ever  saw  any  woman,  you 
won't  be  hurtin'  your  own  feelin's  either." 

The  blood  left  Peg's  face  as  she  looked 
up.  "But  that's  why  I  can't  give  him  the 
money — and  he  won't  marry  me  with- 
out it." 

Mr.  Hamlin's  hand  dropped  from  the 
last  button  of  his  waistcoat.  "Can't — 
give — him — the — money?"  he  repeated 
s  Jowly. 

"Ho." 

"Why?" 

"Because — because  I  love  him." 

Mr.  Hamlin  rebuttoned  his  waistcoat, 
and  sat  down  patiently  on  the  bed.  Peg 
arose,  and  awkwardly  drew  the  portman- 
teau a  little  nearer  to  him. 

"When  Jim  Byways  left  me  this  yer 
property,"  she  began,  looking  cautiously 
around,  "he  left  it  to  me  on  conditions;  not 
conditions  ez  waz  in  his  written  will,  but 
conditions  ez  waz  spoken.  A  promise  I 
made  him  in  this  very  room,  Mr.  Ham- 
lin,— this  very  room,  and  on  that  very  bed 
you're  sittin'  on,  in  which  he  died." 

Like  most  gamblers,  Mr.  Hamlin  was 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED    DOG.         419 

superstitious.  He  rose  hastily  from  the 
bed,  and  took  a  chair  beside  the  window. 
The  wind  shook  it  as  if  the  discontented 
spirit  of  Mr.  Byways  were  without,  re- 
enforcing  his  last  injunction. 

"I  don't  know  if  you  remember  him," 
said  Peg  feverishly.  "He  was  a  man  ez 
hed  suffered.  All  that  he  loved  —  wife, 
fammerly,  friends — had  gone  back  on  him. 
He  tried  to  make  light  of  it  afore  folks; 
but  with  me,  being  a  poor  gal,  he  let  him- 
self out.  I  never  told  anybody  this.  I 
don't  know  why  he  told  me  ;  I  don't  know," 
continued  Peg,  with  a  sniffle,  uwhy  he 
wanted  to  make  me  unhappy  too.  But  he 
made  me  promise,  that,  if  he  left  me  his 
fortune,  I'd  never,  never  —  so  help  me 
God! — never  share  it  with  any  man  or 
woman  that  I  loved.  I  didn't  think  it 
would  be  hard  to  keep  that  promise  then, 
Mr.  Hamlin;  for  I  was  very  poor,  and 
hedn't  a  friend  nor  a  living  bein'  that  was 
kind  to  me,  but  him/' 

"But  you've  as  good  as  broken  your 
promise  already,"  said  Hamlin.  "You've 
given  Jack  money,  as  I  know." 

"Only  what  I  made  myself.     Listen  to 

me,  Mr.  Hamlin.     When  Jack  proposed 
v.  24  N— Bret  Harte 


420         AN    HEIRESS    OF    RED    DOG. 

to  me,  I  offered  him  about  what  I  kalki- 
lated  I  could  earn  myself.  When  he  went 
away,  and  was  sick  and  in  trouble,  I  came 
here  and  took  this  hotel.  I  knew  that  by 
hard  work  I  could  make  it  pay.  Don't 
laugh  at  me,  please.  I  did  work  hard,  and 
did  make  it  pay — without  takin'  one  cent 
of  the  fortin'.  And  all  I  made,  workin'  by 
night  and  day,  I  gave  to  him.  I  did,  Mr. 
Hamlin.  I  ain't  so  hard  to  him  as  you 
think,  though  I  might  be  kinder,  I  know." 

Mr.  Hamlin  rose,  deliberately  resumed 
his  coat,  watch,  hat,  and  overcoat.  When 
he  was  completely  dressed  again,  he  turned 
to  Peg.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you've 
been  givin'  all  the  money  you  made  here 
to  this  A  i  first-class  cherubim  3" 

"Yes;  but  he  didn't  know  where  I  got 
it.  O  Mr.  Hamlin !  he  didn't  know  that." 

"Do  I  understand  you,  that  he's  bin 
buckin  agin  Faro  with  the  money  that  you 
raised  on  hash  ?  And  you  makin'  the 
hash  ?" 

"But  he  didn't  know  that.  He  wouldn't 
hev  took  it  if  I'd  told  him." 

"]STo,  he'd  hev  died  fust!"  said  Mr. 
Hamlin  gravely.  "Why,  he's  that  sensi- 
tive— is  Jack  Folinsbee — that  it  nearly 


4N    BB1RE8S   OF   RED   DOG.        421 

kills  him  to  take  money  even  of  me.  But 
where  does  this  angel  reside  when  he  isn't 
fightin'  the  tiger,  and  is,  so  to  speak,  visible 
to  the  naked  eye?" 

"He — he — stops  here,"  said  Peg,  with 
an  awkward  blush. 

"I  see.  Might  I  ask  the  number  of  his 
room — or  should  I  be  a — disturbing  him 
in  his  meditations  ?"  continued  Jack  Ham- 
lin,  with  grave  politeness. 

"Oh !  then  you'll  promise  ?  And  you'll 
talk  to  him,  and  make  him  promise  ?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Hamlin  quietly. 

"And  you'll  remember  he's  sick — very 
sick?  His  room's  No.  44,  at  the  end  of 
the  hall.  Perhaps  I'd  better  go  with  you  ?" 

"I'll  find  it." 

"And  you  won't  be  too  hard  on  him  ?" 

"I'll  be  a  father  to  him,"  said  Hamlin 
demurely,  as  he  opened  the  door  and 
stepped  into  the  hall.  But  he  hesitated  a 
moment,  and  then  turned,  and  gravely  held 
out  his  hand.  Peg  took  it  timidly.  He 
did  not  seem  quite  in  earnest;  and  his 
black  eyes,  vainly  questioned,  indicated 
nothing.  But  he  shook  her  hand  warmly, 
and  the  next  moment  was  gone. 

He  found  the  room  with  no  difficulty. 


422         AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED   DOG. 

A  faint  cough  from  within,  and  a  querulous 
protest,  answered  his  knock.  Mr.  Hamlin 
entered  without  further  ceremony.  A  sick- 
ening smell  of  drugs,  a  palpable  flavor  of 
stale  dissipation,  and  the  wasted  figure 
of  Jack  Folinsbee,  half-dressed,  extended 
upon  the  bed,  greeted  him.  Mr.  Hamlin 
was  for  an  instant  startled.  There  were 
hollow  circles  round  the  sick  man's  eyes ; 
there  was  palsy  in  his  trembling  limbs; 
there  was  dissolution  in  his  feverish 
breath. 

"What's  up?"  he  asked  huskily  and 
nervously. 

"I  am,  and  I  want  you  to  get  up  too." 

"I  can't,  Jack.  I'm  regularly  done  up." 
He  reached  his  shaking  hand  towards  a 
glass  half-filled  with  suspicious,  pungent- 
smelling  liquid ;  but  Mr.  Hamlin  stayed  it. 

"Do  you  want  to  get  back  that  two  thou- 
sand dollars  you  lost  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  get  up,  and  marry  that  woman 
down  stairs." 

Folinsbee  laughed  half  hysterically,  half 
sardonically. 

"She  won't  give  it  to  me." 

"No;  but/ will." 


AN    HEIRESS   OF   RED   DOG.         423 

"Your 

"Yes." 

Folinsbee,  with  an  attempt  at  a  reck- 
less laugh,  rose,  trembling  and  with  diffi- 
culty, to  his  swollen  feet.  Hamlin  eyed 
him  narrowly,  and  then  bade  him  lie  down 
again.  "To-morrow  will  do,"  he  said, 
"and  then—" 

"If  I  don't—" 

"If  you  don't,"  responded  Hamlin, 
"why,  I'll  just  wade  in  and  cut  you 
out!" 

But  on  the  morrowT  Mr.  Hamlin  was 
spared  that  possible  act  of  disloyalty;  for, 
in  the  night,  the  already  hesitating  spirit 
of  Mr.  Jack  Folinsbee  took  flight  on  the 
wings  of  the  south-east  storm.  When  or 
how  it  happened,  nobody  knew.  Whether 
this  last  excitement  and  the  near  prospect 
of  matrimony,  or  whether  an  overdose  of 
anodyne,  had  hastened  his  end,  was  never 
known.  I  only  know,  that,  when  they 
came  to  awaken  him  the  next  morning,  the 
best  that  was  left  of  him — a  face  still 
beautiful  and  boy-like — looked  up  coldly 
at  the  tearful  eyes  of  Peg  Moffat.  "It 
serves  me  right,  it's  a  judgment,"  she  said 
in  a  low  whisper  to  Jack  Hamlin;  "for 


424         AN    HEIRESS    OF   RED   DOG. 

God  knew  that  I'd  broken  my  word,  and 
willed  all  my  property  to  him." 

She  did  not  long  survive  him.  Whether 
Mr.  Hamlin  ever  clothed  with  action  the 
suggestion  indicated  in  his  speech  to 
the  lamented  Jack  that  night,  is  not  of 
record.  He  was  always  her  friend,  and 
on  her  demise  became  her  executor.  But 
the  bulk  of  her  property  was  left  to  a  dis- 
tant relation  of  handsome  Jack  Folinsbee, 
and  so  passed  out  of  the  control  of  Eed 
Dog  forever. 


THE 
GKEAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTEEY 


IT  was  growing  quite  dark  in  the  tele- 
graph-office at  Cottonwood,  Tuolumne 
County,  California.  The  office,  a  box-like 
enclosure,  was  separated  from  the  public 
room  of  the  Miners'  Hotel  by  a  thin  parti- 
tion ;  and  the  operator,  who  was  also  news 
and  express  agent  at  Cottonwood,  had 
closed  his  window,  and  was  lounging  by  his 
news-stand  preparatory  to  going  home. 
Without,  the  first  monotonous  rain  of  the 
season  was  dripping  from  the  porches  of 
the  hotel  in  the  waning  light  of  a  Decem- 
ber day.  The  operator,  accustomed  as  he 
was  to  long  intervals  of  idleness,  was  fast 
becoming  bored. 

The  tread  of  mud-muffled  boots  on  the 
veranda,  and  the  entrance  of  two  men,  of- 
fered a  momentary  excitement.  He  recog- 
nized in  the  strangers  two  prominent  citi- 
zens of  Cottonwood ;  and  their  manner  be- 
425 


426       THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

spoke  business.  One  of  them  proceeded  to 
the  desk,  wrote  a  despatch,  and  handed  it 
to  the  other  interrogatively. 

"That's  about  the  way  the  thing  p'ints," 
responded  his  companion  assentingly. 

"I  reckoned  it  only  squar  to  use  his 
dientical  words?" 

"That's  so." 

The  first  speaker  turned  to  the  operator 
with  the  despatch. 

"How  soon  can  you  shove  her  through  ?" 

The  operator  glanced  professionally  over 
the  address  and  the  length  of  the  despatch. 

"Now,"  he  answered  promptly. 

"And  she  gets  there  ?" 

"To-night.  But  there's  no  delivery 
until  to-morrow." 

"Shove  her  through  to-night,  and  say 
there's  an  extra  twenty  left  here  for  de- 
livery." 

The  operator,  accustomed  to  all  kinds  of 
extravagant  outlay  for  expedition,  replied 
that  he  would  lay  this  proposition  with  the 
despatch,  before  the  San  Francisco  office. 
He  then  took  it  and  read  it — and  re-read  it. 
He  preserved  the  usual  professional  ap- 
athy,— had  doubtless  sent  many  more  enig- 
matical and  mysterious  messages,  —  but 


THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.      427 

nevertheless,  when  he  finished,  he  raised 
his  eyes  inquiringly  to  his  customer. 
That  gentleman,  who  enjoyed  a  reputation 
for  equal  spontaneity  of  temper  and  re- 
volver, met  his  gaze  a  little  impatiently. 
The  operator  had  recourse  to  a  trick.  Un- 
der the  pretence  of  misunderstanding  the 
message,  he  obliged  the  sender  to  repeat  it 
aloud  for  the  sake  of  accuracy,  and  even 
suggested  a  few  verbal  alterations,  osten- 
sibly to  insure  correctness,  but  really  to  ex- 
tract further  information.  Nevertheless, 
the  man  doggedly  persisted  in  a  literal 
transcript  of  his  message.  The  operator 
went  to  his  instrument  hesitatingly. 

"I  suppose,"  he  added  half-questioning- 
ly,  "there  ain't  no  chance  of  a  mistake. 
This  address  is  Eightbody,  that  rich  old 
Bostonian  that  everybody  knows.  There 
ain't  but  one  ?" 

"That's  the  address,"  responded  the  first 
speaker  coolly. 

"Didn't  know  the  old  chap  had  invest- 
ments out  here,"  suggested  the  operator, 
lingering  at  his  instrument. 

"E"o  more  did  I,"  was  the  insufficient 
reply. 

For   some   few   moments   nothing  was 


428       THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

heard  but  the  click  of  the  instrument,  as 
the  operator  worked  the  key,  with  the  usual 
appearance  of  imparting  confidence  to  a 
somewhat  reluctant  hearer  who  preferred 
to  talk  himself.  The  two  men  stood  by, 
watching  his  motions  with  the  usual  awe  of 
the  unprofessional.  When  he  had  finished, 
they  laid  before  him  two  gold-pieces.  As 
the  operator  took  them  up,  he  could  not 
help  saying, — 

"The  old  man  went  off  kinder  sudden, 
didn't  he  ?  Had  no  time  to  write  ?" 

"Not  sudden  for  that  kind  o*  man,"  was 
the  exasperating  reply. 

But  the  speaker  was  not  to  be  discon- 
certed. "If  there  is  an  answer — "  he 
began. 

"There  ain't  any,"  replied  the  first 
speaker  quietly. 

"Why?" 

"Because  the  man  ez  sent  the  message  is 
dead." 

"But  it's  signed  by  you  two." 

"On'y  ez  witnesses — eh  ?*'  appealed  the 
first  speaker  to  his  comrade. 

"On'y  ez  witnesses,"  responded  the 
other. 

The   operator   shrugged   his   shoulders. 


TEE    aREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.      429 

The  business  concluded,  the  first  speaker 
slightly  relaxed.  He  nodded  to  the  op- 
erator, and  turned  to  the  bar-room  with  a 
pleasing  social  impulse.  When  their 
glasses  were  set  down  empty,  the  first 
speaker,  with  a  cheerful  condemnation  of 
the  hard  times  and  the  weather,  apparently 
dismissed  all  previous  proceedings  from 
his  mind,  and  lounged  out  with  his  com- 
panion. At  the  corner  of  the  street  they 
stopped. 

"Well,  that  job's  done,"  said  the  first 
speaker,  by  way  of  relieving  the  slight  so- 
cial embarrassment  of  parting. 

"Thet's  so,"  responded  his  companion, 
and  shook  his  hand. 

They  parted.  A  gust  of  wind  swept 
through  the  pines,  and  struck  a  faint 
./Eolian  cry  from  the  wires  above  their 
heads ;  and  the  rain  and  the  darkness  again 
slowly  settled  upon  Cottonwood. 

The  message  lagged  a  little 'at  San  Fran- 
cisco, laid  over  half  an  hour  at  Chicago, 
and  fought  longitude  the  whole  way;  so 
that  it  was  past  midnight  when  the  "all 
night"  operator  took  it  from  the  wires  at 
Boston.  But  it  was  freighted  with  a  man- 
date from  the  San  Francisco  office;  and  a 


430      THE    GREAT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

messenger  was  procured,  who  sped  with  it 
through  dark  snow-hound  streets,  between 
the  high  walls  of  close-shuttered  rayless 
houses,  to  a  certain  formal  square  ghostly 
with  snow-covered  statues.  Here  he 
ascended  the  hroad  steps  of  a  reserved  and 
solid-looking  mansion,  and  pulled  a  bronze 
bell-knob,  that  somewhere  within  those 
chaste  recesses,  after  an  apparent  reflective 
pause,  coldly  communicated  the  fact  that  a 
stranger  was  waiting  without — as  he  ought. 
Despite  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  there  was 
a  slight  glow  from  the  windows,  clearly  not 
enough  to  warm  the  messenger  with  indica- 
tions of  a  festivity  within,  but  yet  bespeak- 
ing, as  it  were,  some  prolonged  though  suK- 
dued  excitement.  The  sober  servant  who 
took  the  despatch,  and  receipted  for  it  as 
gravely  as  if  witnessing  a  last  will  and  test- 
ament, respectfully  paused  before  the  en- 
trance of  the  drawing-room.  The  sound 
of  measured  and  rhetorical  speech,  through 
which  the  occasional  catarrhal  cough  of  the 
New-England  coast  struggled,  as  the  only 
effort  of  nature  not  wholly  repressed,  came 
from  its  heavily-curtained  recesses ;  for  the 
occasion  of  the  evening  had  been  the  recep- 
tion and  entertainment  of  various  distin- 


THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.      431 

guished  persons,  and,  as  had  been  epigram- 
matically  expressed  by  one  of  the  guests, 
"the  history  of  the  country"  was  taking  its 
leave  in  phrases  more  or  less  memorable 
and  characteristic.  Some  of  these  vale- 
dictory axioms  were  clever,  some  witty,  a 
few  profound,  but  always  left  as  a  genteel 
contribution  to  the  entertainer.  Some  had 
been  already  prepared,  and,  like  a  card, 
had  served  and  identified  the  guest  at  other 
mansions. 

The  last  guest  departed,  the  last  car- 
riage rolled  away,  when  the  servant  ven- 
tured to  indicate  the  existence  of  the  de- 
spatch to  his  master,  who  was  standing  on 
the  hearth-rug  in  an  attitude  of  wearied 
self -righteousness.  He  took  it,  opened  it, 
read  it,  re-read  it,  and  said, — 

"There  must  be  some  mistake!  It  is 
not  for  me.  Call  the  boy,  Waters." 

Waters,  who  was  perfectly  aware  that 
the  boy  had  left,  nevertheless  obediently 
walked  towards  the  hall-door,  but  was  re- 
called by  his  master. 

"No  matter — at  present!" 

"It's  nothing  serious,  William?"  asked 
Mrs.  Rightbody,  with  languid  wifely  con- 
cern. 


432       THE    GREAT    DEAD-WOOD    MYSTERY. 

"No,  nothing.  Is  there  a  light  in  my 
study?" 

"Yes.  But,  before  you  go,  can  you  give 
me  a  moment  or  two  ?" 

Mr.  Kightbody  turned  a  little  impa- 
tiently towards  his  wife.  She  had  thrown 
herself  languidly  on  the  sofa ;  her  hair  was 
slightly  disarranged,  and  part  of  a  slip- 
pered foot  was  visible.  She  might  have 
been  a  finely-formed  woman ;  but  even  her 
careless  deshabille  left  the  general  impres- 
sion that  she  was  severely  flannelled 
throughout,  and  that  any  ostentation  of 
womanly  charm  was  under  vigorous  san- 
itary surveillance. 

"Mrs.  Marvin  told  me  to-night  that  her 
son  made  no  secret  of  his  serious  attach- 
ment for  our  Alice,  and  that,  if  I  was  sat- 
isfied, Mr.  Marvin  would  be  glad  to  confer 
with  you  at  once." 

The  information  did  not  seem  to  ab- 
sorb Mr.  Bightbody's  wandering  attention, 
but  rather  increased  his  impatience.  He 
said  hastily,  that  he  would  speak  of  that 
to-morrow ;  and  partly  by  way  of  reprisal, 
and  partly  to  dismiss  the  subject,  added — 

"Positively  James  must  pay  some  atten- 
tion to  the  register  and  the  thermometer.  It 


TEE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.      433 

was  over  70°  to-night,  and  the  ventilating 
draught  was  closed  in  the  drawing-room." 

"That  was  because  Professor  Ammon 
sat  near  it,  and  the  old  gentleman's  tonsils 
are  so  sensitive." 

"He  ought  to  know  from  Dr.  Dyer  Doit 
that  systematic  and  regular  exposure  to 
draughts  stimulates  the  mucous  membrane ; 
while  fixed  air  over  60°  invariably — " 

"I  am  afraid,  William,"'  interrupted 
Mrs.  Rightbody,  with  feminine  adroitness, 
adopting  her  husband's  topic  with  a  view 
of  thereby  directing  him  from  it, — "I'm 
afraid  that  people  do  not  yet  appreciate  the 
substitution  of  bouillon  for  punch  and  ices. 
I  observed  that  Mr.  Spondee  declined  it, 
and,  I  fancied,  looked  disappointed.  The 
fibrine  and  wheat  in  liqueur-glasses  passed 
quite  unnoticed  too." 

"And  yet  each  half-drachm  contained 
the  half-digested  substance  of  a  pound  of 
beef.  I'm  surprised  at  Spondee!"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Rightbody  aggrievedly.  "Ex- 
hausting his  brain  and  nerve  force  by  the 
highest  creative  efforts  of  the  Muse,  he  pre- 
fers perfumed  and  diluted  alcohol  flavored 
with  carbonic  acid  gas.  Even  Mrs.  Far- 
ingway  admitted  to  me  that  the  sudden 


434      THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

lowering  of  the  temperature  of  the  stomach 
by  the  introduction  of  ice — " 

"Yes;  but  she  took  a  lemon  ice  at  the 
last  Dorothea  Reception,  and  asked  me  if  I 
had  observed  that  the  lower  animals  re- 
fused their  food  at  a  temperature  over 
60°." 

Mr.  Rightbody  again  moved  impatiently 
towards  the  door.  Mrs.  Rightbody  eyed 
him  curiously. 

"You  will  not  write,  I  hope  ?  Dr.  Kep- 
pler  told  me  to-night  that  your  cerebral 
symptoms  interdicted  any  prolonged  men- 
tal strain." 

"I  must  consult  a  few  papers,"  re- 
sponded Mr.  Rightbody  curtly,  as  he 
entered  his  library. 

It  was  as  richly-furnished  apartment, 
morbidly  severe  in  its  decorations,  which 
were  symptomatic  of  a  gloomy  dyspepsia 
of  art,  then  quite  prevalent.  A  few  curios, 
very  ugly,  but  providentially  equally  rare, 
were  scattered  about.  There  were  various 
bronzes,  marbles,  and  casts,  all  requiring 
explanation,  and  so  fulfilling  their  purpose 
of  promoting  conversation,  and  exhibiting 
the  erudition  of  their  owner.  There  were 
souvenirs  of  travel  with  a  history,  old  brie- 


THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.      435 

d-brac  with  a  pedigree,  but  little  or  noth- 
ing that  challenged  attention  for  itself 
alone.  In  all  cases  the  superiority  of  the 
owner  to  his  possessions  was  admitted.  As 
a  natural  result,  nobody  ever  lingered 
there,  the  servants  avoided  the  room,  and 
no  child  was  ever  known  to  play  in  it. 

Mr.  Kightbody  turned  up  the  gas,  and 
from  a  cabinet  of  drawers,  precisely  la- 
belled, drew  a  package  of  letters.  These 
he  carefully  examined.  All  were  discol- 
ored, and  made  dignified  by  age ;  but  some, 
in  their  original  freshness,  must  have  ap- 
peared trifling,  and  inconsistent  with  any 
correspondent  of  Mr.  Rightbody.  Never- 
theless, that  gentleman  spent  some  mo- 
ments in  carefully  perusing  them,  occa- 
sionally referring  to  the  telegram  in  his1 
hand.  Suddenly  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door.  Mr.  Eightbody  started,  made  a  half- 
unconscious  movement  to  return  the  let- 
ters to  the  drawer,  turned  the  telegram 
face  downwards,  and  then,  somewhat 
harshly,  stammered, — 

"Eh  ?    Who's  there  ?    Come  in." 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  papa,"  said  a  very 
pretty  girl,  entering,  without,  however,  the 
slightest  trace  of  apology  or  awe  in  her 


436      THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MJSTSItr. 

manner,  and  taking  a  chair  with  the  self- 
possession  and  familiarity  of  an  habitue  of 
the  room;  "but  I  knew  it  was  not  your 
habit  to  write  late,  so  I  supposed  you  were 
not  busy.  I  am  on  my  way  to  bed." 

She  was  so  very  pretty,  and  withal  so 
utterly  unconscious  of  it,  or  perhaps  so 
consciously  superior  to  it,  that  one  was 
provoked  into  a  more  critical  examination 
of  her  face.  But  this  only  resulted  in  a 
reiteration  of  her  beauty,  and  perhaps  the 
added  facts  that  her  dark  eyes  were  very 
womanly,  her  rich  complexion  eloquent, 
and  her  chiselled  lips  fell  enough  to  be 
passionate  or  capricious,  notwithstanding 
that  their  general  effect  suggested  neither 
caprice,  womanly  weakness,  nor  passion. 

With  the  instinct  of  an  embarrassed 
man,  Mr.  Rightbody  touched  the  topic  he 
would  have  preferred  to  avoid. 

"I  suppose  we  must  talk  over  to-mor- 
row/' he  hesitated,  "this  matter  of  yours 
and  Mr.  Marvin's?  Mrs.  Marvin  has 
formally  spoken  to  your  mother." 

Miss  Alice  lifted  her  bright  eyes  intelli- 
gently, but  not  joyfully;  and  the  color  of 
action,  rather  than  embarrassment,  rose  to 
her  round  cheeks. 


THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.      437 

"Yes,  lie  said  she  would/'  she  answered 
simply. 

"At  present,"  continued  Mr.  Eightbody 
still  awkwardly,  "I  see  no  objection  to  the 
proposed  arrangement." 

Miss  Alice  opened  her  round  eyes  at 
this. 

"Why,  papa,  I  thought  it  had  been 
all  settled  long  ago !  Mamma  knew  it,  you 
knew  it.  Last  July,  mamma  and  you 
talked  it  over." 

"Yes,  yes,"  returned  her  father,  fum- 
bling his  papers;  "that  is — well,  we  will 
talk  of  it  to-morrow."  In  fact,  Mr.  Eight- 
body  had  intended  to  give  the  affair  a 
proper  attitude  of  seriousness  and  solem- 
nity by  due  precision  of  speech,  and  some 
apposite  reflections,  when  he  should  im- 
part the  news  to  his  daughter,  but  felt 
himself  unable  to  do  it  now.  "I  am  glad, 
Alice,"  he  said  at  last,  "that  you  have 
quite  forgotten  your  previous  whims  and 
fancies.  You  see  we  are  right." 

"Oh !  I  dare  say,  papa,  if  I'm  to  be  mar- 
ried at  all,  that  Mr.  Marvin  is  in  every 
way  suitable." 

Mr.  Eightbody  looked  at  his  daughter 
narrowly.  There  was  not  the  slightest  im- 


488       THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

patience  nor  bitterness  in  her  manner:  it 
was  as  well  regulated  as  the  sentiment  she 
expressed. 

"Mr.  Marvin  is — "  he  began. 

"I  know  what  Mr.  Marvin  is"  inter- 
rupted Miss  Alice;  "and  he  has  promised 
.me  that  I  shall  be  allowed  to  go  on  with 
my  studies  the  same  as  before.  I  shall 
graduate  with  my  class;  and,  if  I  prefer 
to  practise  my  profession,  I  can  do  so  in 
two  years  after  our  marriage.'7 

"In  two  years  ?"  queried  Mr.  Rightbody 
curiously. 

"Yes.  You  see,  in  case  we  should  have 
a  child,  that  would  give  me  time  enough  to 
wean  it." 

Mr.  Rightbody  looked  at  this  flesh  of 
his  flesh,  pretty  and  palpable  flesh  as  it 
was ;  but,  being  confronted  as  equally  with 
the  brain  of  his  brain,  all  he  could  do  was 
to  say  meekly, — 

"Yes,  certainly.  We  will  see  about  all 
that  to-morrow." 

Miss  Alice  rose.  Something  in  the  free, 
unfettered  swing  of  her  arms  as  she  rested 
them  lightly,  after  a  half  yawn,  on  her 
lithe  hips,  suggested  his  next  speech,  al- 
though still  distrait  and  impatient. 


TEE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MY8TER?.      439 

"You  continue  your  exercise  with  the 
health-lift  yet,  I  see." 

"Yes,  papa;  but  I  had  to  give  up  the 
flannels.  I  don't  see  how  mamma  could 
wear  them.  But  my  dresses  are  high- 
necked,  and  by  bathing  I  toughen  my  skin. 
See !"  she  added,  as,  with  a  child-like  un- 
consciousness, she  unfastened  two  or  three 
buttons  of  her  gown,  and  exposed  the  white 
surface  of  her  throat  and  neck  to  her 
father,  "I  can  defy  a  chill." 

Mr.  Rightbody,  with  something  akin  to 
a  genuine  playful,  paternal  laugh,  leaned 
forward  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

"It's  getting  late,  Ally,"  he  said  pa- 
rentally, but  not  dictatorially.  "Go  to 
bed." 

"I  took  a  nap  of  three  hours  this  after- 
noon," said  Miss  Alice,  with  a  dazzling 
smile,  "to  anticipate  this  dissipation. 
Good-night,  papa.  To-morrow,  then." 

"To-morrow,"  repeated  Mr.  Rightbody, 
with  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  the  girl 
vaguely.  "Good-night." 

Miss  Alice  tripped  from  the  room,  pos- 
sibly a  trifle  the  more  light-heartedly  that 
she  had  parted  from  her  father  in  one  of 
his  rare  moments  of  illogical  human  weak- 


440      THE    GREAT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

ness.  And  perhaps  it  was  well  for  the 
poor  girl  that  she  kept  this  single  remem- 
brance of  him,  when,  I  fear,  in  after-years, 
his  methods,  his  reasoning,  and  indeed  all 
he  had  tried  to  impress  upon  her  child- 
hood, had  faded  from  her  memory. 

For,  when  she  had  left,  Mr.  Rightbody 
fell  again  to  the  examination  of  his  old  let- 
ters. This  was  quite  absorbing;  so  much 
so,  that  he  did  not  notice  the  footsteps  of 
Mrs.  Rightbody,  on  the  staircase  as  she 
passed  to  her  chamber,  nor  that  she  had 
paused  on  the  landing  to  look  through  the 
glass  half-door  on  her  husband,  as  he  sat 
there  with  the. letters  beside  him,  and  the 
telegram  opened  before  him.  Had  she 
waited  a  moment  later,  she  would  have 
seen  him  rise,  and  walk  to  the  sofa  with  a 
disturbed  air  and  a  slight  confusion;  so 
that,  on  reaching  it,  he  seemed  to  hesitate 
to  lie  down,  although  pale  and  evidently 
faint.  Had  she  still  waited,  she  would 
have  seen  him  rise  again  with  an  ago- 
nized effort,  stagger  to  the  table,  fum- 
blingly  refold  and  replace  the  papers  in 
the  cabinet,  and  lock  it,  and,  although 
now  but  half-conscious,  hold  the  telegram 
over  the  gas-flame  till  it  was  consumed. 


TMJE    6R£JLT    DBA.DWOOD    MYSTERY.      441 

For,  had  she  waited  until  this  moment, 
she  would  have  flown  unhesitatingly  to 
his  aid,  as,  this  act  completed,  he  stag- 
gered again,  reached  his  hand  toward  the 
bell,  hut  vainly,  and  then  fell  prone  upon 
the  sofa. 

But  alas !  no  providential  nor  accidental 
hand  was  raised  to  save  him,  or  anticipate 
the  progress  of  this  story.  And  when,  half 
an  hour  later,  Mrs.  Rightbody,  a  little 
alarmed,  and  more  indignant  at  his  viola- 
tion of  the  doctor's  rules,  appeared  upon 
the  threshold,  Mr.  Rightbody  lay  upon  the 
sofa,  dead  f 

With  bustle,  with  thronging  feet,  with 
the  irruption  of  strangers,  and  a  hurrying 
to  and  fro,  but,  more  than  all,  with  an  im- 
pulse and  emotion  unknown  to  the  mansion 
when  its  owner  was  in  life,  Mrs.  Rightbody 
strove  to  call  back  the  vanished  life,  but  in 
vain.  The  highest  medical  intelligence, 
called  from  its  bed  at  this  strange  hour, 
saw  only  the  demonstration  of  its  theories 
made  a  year  before.  Mr.  Rightbody  was 
dead — without  doubt,  without  mystery, 
even  as  a  correct  man  should  die — logi- 
cally, and  indorsed  by  the  highest  medical 
authority. 


442       THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

But  even  in  the  confusion,  Mrs.  Right- 
body  managed  to  speed  a  messenger  to  the 
telegraph-office  for  a  copy  of  the  despatch 
received  by  Mr.  Rightbody,  but  now 
missing. 

In  the  solitude  of  her  own  room,  and 
without  a  confidant,  she  read  these 

words : — 

"[Copy.] 

"To  MB.  ADAMS  RIGHTBODY,  BOSTON,  MASS. 

"Joshua    Silsbie    died    suddenly    this    morning. 
His  last  request  was  that  you  should  remember 
your  sacred  compact  with  him  of  thirty  years  ago. 
( Signed )  "SEVENTY-FOUR. 

"SEVENTY-FIVE." 

In  the  darkened  home,  and  amid  the 
formal  condolements  of  their  friends  who 
had  called  to  gaze  upon  the  scarcely  cold 
features  of  their  late  associate,  Mrs.  Right- 
body  managed  to  send  another  despatch. 
It  was  addressed  to  "Seventy-Four  and 
Seventy-Five,"  Cottonwood.  In  a  few 
hours  she  received  the  following  enigmat- 
ical response: — 

"A  horse-thief  named  Josh  Silsbie  was 
lynched  yesterday  morning  by  the  Vig- 
ilantes at  Deadwood." 


PAET  II. 

THE  spring  of  1874  was  retarded  in  the 
California  sierras ;  so  much  so,  that  certain 
Eastern  tourists  who  had  early  ventured 
into  the  Yo  Semite  Valley  found  them- 
selves, one  May  morning,  snow-bound 
against  the  tempestuous  shoulders  of  El 
Capitan.  So  furious  was  the  onset  of  the 
wind  at  the  Upper  Merced  Canon,  that 
even  so  respectable  a  lady  as  Mrs.  Eight- 
body  was  fain  to  cling  to  the  neck  of  her 
guide  to  keep  her  seat  in  the  saddle ;  while 
Miss  Alice,  scorning  all  masculine  assist- 
ance, was  hurled,  a  lovely  chaos,  against 
the  snowy  wall  of  the  chasm.  Mrs.  Right- 
body  screamed;  Miss  Alice  raged  under 
her  breath,  but  scrambled  to  her  feet 
again  in  silence. 

"I  told  you  so!"  said  Mrs.  Eightbody, 
in  an  indignant  whisper,  as  her  daughter 
again  ranged  beside  her.     "I  warned  you 
especially,  Alice — that — that — " 
443 


444       THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

"What?"  interrupted  Miss  Alice  curtly. 

"That  you  would  need  your  chemiloons 
and  high  boots,"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody,  in 
a  regretful  undertone,  slightly  increasing 
her  distance  from  the  guides. 

Miss  Alice  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders 
scornfully,  but  ignored  her  mother's  im- 
plication. 

"You  were  particularly  warned  against 
going  into  the  valley  at  this  season,"  she 
only  replied  grimly. 

Mrs.  Rightbody  raised  her  eyes  impa- 
tiently. 

"You  know  how  anxious  I  was  to  dis- 
cover your  poor  father's  strange  corre- 
spondent, Alice.  You  have  no  considera- 
tion." 

"But  when  you  have  discovered  him — 
what  then  ?"  queried  Miss  Alice. 

"What  then?" 

"Yes.  My  belief  is,  that  you  will  find 
the  telegram  only  a  mere  business  cipher, 
and  all  this  quest  mere  nonsense." 

"Alice !  Why,  you  yourself  thought 
your  father's  conduct  that  night  very 
strange.  Have  you  forgotten  ?" 

The  young  lady  had  not,  but,  for  some 
far-reaching  feminine  reason,  chose  to  ig- 


THE    QRSAT    DEADWQOD    MYSTERY.      445 

nore  it  at  that  moment,  when  her  late 
tumble  in  the  snow  was  still  fresh  in  her 
mind. 

"And  this  woman,  whoever  she  may 
be — "  continued  Mrs.  Eightbody. 

"How  do  you  know  there's  a  woman  in 
the  case?"  interrupted  Miss  Alice,  wick- 
edly I  fear. 

"How  do  —  I  —  know  —  there's  a 
woman  ?"  slowly  ejaculated  Mrs.  Right- 
body,  floundering  in  the  snow  and  the  un- 
expected possibility  of  such  a  ridiculous 
question.  But  here  her  guide  flew  to  her 
assistance,  and  estopped  further  speech. 
And,  indeed,  a  grave  problem  was  before 
them. 

The  road  that  led  to  their  single  place  of 
refuge — a  cabin,  half  hotel,  half  trading- 
post,  scarce  a  mile  away — skirted  the  base 
of  the  rocky  dome,  and  passed  perilously 
near  the  precipitous  wall  of  the  valley. 
There  was  a  rapid  descent  of  a  hundred 
yards  or  more  to  this  terrace-like  passage ; 
and  the  guides  paused  for  a  moment  of  con- 
sultation, cooly  oblivious,  alike  to  the  ter- 
rified questioning  of  Mrs.  Rightbody,  or 
the  half-insolent  independence  of  the 
daughter.  The  elder  guide  was  russet- 


446       THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

bearded,  stout,  and  humorous :  the  younger 
was  dark-bearded,  slight,  and  serious. 

"Ef  you  kin  git  young  Bunker  Hill  to 
let  you  tote  her  on  your  shoulders,  I'll  git 
the  Madam  to  hang  on  to  me,"  came  to 
Mrs.  Bightbody's  horrified  ears  as  the  ex- 
pression of  her  particular  companion. 

"Freeze  to  the  old  gal,  and  don't  reckon 
on  me  if  the  daughter  starts  in  to  play  it 
alone,"  was  the  enigmatical  response  of  the 
younger  guide. 

Miss  Alice  overheard  both  propositions ; 
and,  before  the  two  men  returned  to  their 
side,  that  high-spirited  young  lady  had 
urged  her  horse  down  the  declivity. 

Alas !  at  this  moment  a  gust  of  whirling 
snow  swept  down  upon  her.  There  was  a 
flounder,  a  mis-step,  a  fatal  strain  on  the 
wrong  rein,  a  fall,  a  few  plucky  but  un- 
availing struggles,  and  both  horse  and  rider 
slid  ignominiously  down  toward  the  rocky 
shelf.  Mrs.  Rightbody  screamed.  Miss 
Alice,  from  a  confused  debris  of  snow  and 
ice,  uplifted  a  vexed  and  coloring  face  to 
the  younger  guide,  a  little  the  more 
angrily,  perhaps,  that  she  saw  a  shade  of 
impatience  on  his  face. 

"Don't  move,  but  tie  one  end  of  the  'lass' 


TEE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MY8TERT.      447 

under  your  arms,  and  throw  me  the  other," 
he  said  quietly. 

""What  do  you  mean  by  'lass' — the 
lasso  ?"  asked  Miss  Alice  disgustedly. 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Then  why  don't  you  say  so  ?" 

"O  Alice!"  reproachfully  interpolated 
Mrs.  Rightbody,  encircled  by  the  elder 
guide's  stalwart  arm. 

Miss  Alice  deigned  no  reply,  but  drew 
the  loop  of  the  lasso  over  her  shoulders, 
and  let  it  drop  to  her  round  waist.  Then 
she  essayed  to  throw  the  other  end  to  her 
guide.  Dismal  failure!  The  first  fling 
nearly  knocked  her  off  the  ledge ;  the  sec- 
ond went  all  wild  against  the  rocky  wall; 
the  third  caught  in  a  thorn-bush,  twenty 
feet  below  her  companion's  feet.  Miss 
Alice's  arm  sunk  helplessly  to  her  side,  at 
which  signal  of  unqualified  surrender,  the 
younger  guide  threw  himself  half  way 
down  the  slope,  worked  his  way  to  the 
thorn-bush,  hung  for  a  moment  perilously 
over  the  parapet,  secured  the  lasso,  and 
then  began  to  pull  away  at  his  lovely  bur- 
den. Miss  Alice  was  no  dead  weight,  how- 
ever, but  steadily  half-scrambled  on  her 
hands  and  knees  to  within  a  foot  or  two  of 


448       THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MY8TER7. 

her  rescuer.  At  this  too  familiar  prox- 
imity, she  stood  up,  and  leaned  a  little 
stiffly  against  the  line,  causing  the  guide  to 
give  an  extra  pull,  which  had  the  lamen- 
table effect  of  landing  her  almost  in  his 
arms. 

As  it  was,  her  intelligent  forehead 
struck  his  nose  sharply,  and  I  regret  to 
add,  treating  of  a  romantic  situation, 
caused  that  somewhat  prominent  sign  and 
token  of  a  hero  to  bleed  freely.  Miss  Alice 
instantly  clapped  a  handful  of  snow  over 
his  nostrils. 

"Now  elevate  your  right  arm,"  she  said 
commandingly. 

He  did  as  he  was  bidden,  but  sulkily. 

"That  compresses  the  artery." 

No  man,  with  a  pretty  woman's  hand 
and  a  handful  of  snow  over  his  mouth  and 
nose,  could  effectively  utter  a  heroic  sen- 
tence, nor,  with  his  arm  elevated  stiffly 
over  his  head,  assume  a  heroic  attitude. 
But,  when  his  mouth  was  free  again,  he 
said  half-sulkily,  half-apologetically, — 

"I  might  have  known  a  girl  couldn't 
throw  worth  a  cent," 

"Why?"  demanded  Miss  Alice  sharply. 

"Because — why — because — you  see — 


THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.      449 

they  haven't  got  the  experience,"  he  stam- 
mered feebly. 

"Nonsense!  they  haven't  the  clavicle — 
that's  all !  It's  because  I'm  a  woman,  and 
smaller  in  the  collar-bone,  that  I  haven't 
the  play  of  the  fore-arm  which  you  have. 
See !"  She  squared  her  shoulders  slightly, 
and  turned  the  blaze  of  her  dark  eyes  full 
on  his.  "Experience,  indeed !  A  girl  can 
learn  anything  a  boy  can." 

Apprehension  took  the  place  of  ill- 
humor  in  her  hearer.  He  turned  his  eyes 
hastily  away,  and  glanced  above  him.  The 
elder  guide  had  gone  forward  to  catch  Miss 
Alice's  horse,  which,  relieved  of  his  rider, 
was  floundering  toward  the  trail.  Mrs. 
Rightbody  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  And 
these  two  were  still  twenty  feet  below  the 
trail ! 

There  was  an  awkward  pause. 

"Shall  I  put  you  up  the  same  way?" 
he  queried.  Miss  Alice  looked  at  his  nose, 
and  hesitated.  "Or  will  you  take  my 
hand  ?"  he  added  in  surly  impatience.  To 
his  surprise,  Miss  Alice  took  his  hand,  and 
they  began  the  ascent  together. 

But  the  way  was  difficult  and  dangerous. 
Once  or  twice  her  feet  slipped  on  the 


450       TEE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

smoothly- worn  rock  beneath;  and  she  con- 
fessed to  an  inward  thankfulness  when  her 
uncertain  feminine  hand-grip  was  ex- 
changed for  his  strong  arm  around  her 
waist.  Not  that  he  was  ungentle;  but 
Miss  Alice  angrily  felt  that  he  had  once 
or  twice  exercised  his  superior  masculine 
functions  in  a  rough  way ;  and  yet  the  next 
moment  she  would  have  probably  rejected 
the  idea  that  she  had  even  noticed  it. 
There  was  no  doubt,  however,  that  he  was 
a  little  surly. 

A  fierce  scramble  finally  brought  them 
back  in  safety  to  the  trail;  but  in  the 
action  Miss  Alice's  shoulder,  striking  a 
projecting  bowlder,  wrung  from  her  a  fem- 
inine cry  of  pain,  her  first  sign  of  womanly 
weakness.  The  guide  stopped  instantly. 

"I  am  afraid  I  hurt  you  ?" 

She  raised  her  brown  lashes,  a  trifle 
moist  from  suffering,  looked  in  his  eyes, 
and  dropped  her  own.  Why,  she  could  not 
tell.  And  yet  he  had  certainly  a  kind  face, 
despite  its  seriousness;  and  a  fine  face, 
albeit  unshorn  and  weather-beaten.  Her 
own  eyes  had  never  been  so  near  to  any 
man's  before,  save  her  lover's ;  and  yet  she 
had  never  seen  so  much  in  even  his.  She 


TEE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.      451 

slipped  her  hand  away,  not  with  any  refer- 
ence to  him,  but  rather  to  ponder  over  this 
singular  experience,  and  somehow  felt  un- 
comfortable thereat. 

Nor  was  he  less  so.  It  was  but  a  few 
days  ago  that  he  had  accepted  the  charge 
of  this  young  woman  from  the  elder  guide, 
who  was  the  recognized  escort  of  the  Right- 
body  party,  having  been  a  former  corre- 
spondent of  her  father's.  He  had  been 
hired  like  any  other  guide,  but  had  un- 
dertaken the  task  with  that  chivalrous  en- 
thusiasm which  the  average  Calif ornian 
always  extends  to  the  sex  so  rare  to  him. 
But  the  illusion  had  passed ;  and  he  had 
dropped  into  a  sulky,  practical  sense  of  his 
situation,  perhaps  fraught  with  less  danger 
to  himself.  Only  when  appealed  to  by  his 
manhood  or  her  weakness,  he  had  for- 
gotten his  wounded  vanity. 

He  strode  moodily  ahead,  dutifully 
breaking  the  path  for  her  in  the  direction 
of  the  distant  canon,  where  Mrs.  Right- 
body  and  her  friend  awaited  them.  Miss 
Alice  was  first  to  speak.  In  this  trackless, 
uncharted  terra  incognita  of  the  passions, 
it  is  always  the  woman  who  steps  out  to 

lead  the  way. 
v.  24  O— Bret  Harte 


452      THE    GREAT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

"You  know  this  place  very  well.  .  I  sup- 
pose you  have  lived  here  long  ?" 

"Yes." 

"You  were  not  born  here — no?" 

A  long  pause. 

"I  observe  they  call  you  'Stanislaus  Joe.' 
Of  course  that  is  not  your  real  name?" 
(Mem. — Miss  Alice  had  never  called  him 
anything,  usually  prefacing  any  request 
with  a  languid,  "O-er-er,  please,  mis- 
ter-er-a!"  explicit  enough  for  his  station.) 

"No." 

Miss  Alice  (trotting  after  him,  and 
bawling  in  his  ear). — "What  name  did 
you  say  ?" 

The  Man  (doggedly).— "I  don't  know." 
Nevertheless,  when  they  reached  the  cabin, 
after  an  half -hour's  buffeting  with  the 
storm,  Miss  Alice  applied  herself  to  her 
mother's  escort,  Mr.  Byder. 

"What's  the  name  of  the  man  who  takes 
care  of  my  horse?" 

"Stanislaus  Joe,"  responded  Mr.  Eyder. 

"Is  that  all?" 

"No.  Sometimes  he's  called  Joe  Stanis- 
laus." 

Miss  Alice  (satirically). — "I  suppose 
it's  the  custom  here  to  send  young  ladies 


THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.      458 

out  with  gentlemen  who  hide  their  names 
under  an  ulias  T} 

Mr.  Ryder  (greatly perplexed). — "Why, 
dear  me,  Miss  Alice,  you  allers  'peared  to 
me  as  a  gal  as  was  able  to  take  keer— " 

Miss  Alice  (interrupting  with  a 
wounded,  dove-like  timidity). — "Oh,  never 
mind,  please!" 

The  cabin  offered  but  scanty  accommo- 
dation to  the  tourists ;  which  fact,  when  in- 
dignantly presented  by  Mrs.  Eightbody, 
was  explained  by  the  good-humored  Ryder 
from  the  circumstance  that  the  usual  hotel 
was  only  a  slight  affair  of  boards,  cloth, 
and  paper,  put  up  during  the  season,  and 
partly  dismantled  in  the  fall.  "You 
couldn't  be  kept  warm  enough  there,"  he 
added.  Nevertheless  Miss  Alice  noticed 
that  both  Mr.  Ryder  and  Stanislaus  Joe 
retired  there  with  their  pipes,  after  having 
prepared  the  ladies'  supper,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  an  Indian  woman,  who  apparently 
emerged  from  the  earth  at  the  coming  of 
the  party,  and  disappeared  as  mysteriously. 

The  stars  came  out  brightly  before  they 
slept;  and  the  next  morning  a  clear,  un- 
winking sun  beamed  with  almost  summer 
power  through  the  shutterless  window  of 


454       THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

their  cabin,  and  ironically  disclosed  the  de- 
tails of  its  rude  interior.  Two  or  three 
mangy,  half-eaten  buffalo-robes,  a  bear- 
skin, some  suspicious-looking  blankets, 
rifles  and  saddles,  deal-tables,  and  barrels, 
made  up  its  scant  inventory.  A  strip  of 
faded  calico  hung  before  a  recess  near  the 
chimney,  but  so  blackened  by  smoke  and 
age  that  even  feminine  curiosity  respected 
its  secret.  Mrs.  Rightbody  was  in  high 
spirits,  and  informed  her  daughter  that  she 
was  at  last  on  the  track  of  her  husband's 
unknown  correspondent.  "Seventy-Four 
and  Seventy-Five  represent  two  members 
of  the  Vigilance  Committee,  my  dear,  and 
Mr.  Ryder  will  assist  me  to  find  them." 

"Mr.  Ryder!"  ejaculated  Miss  Alice,  in 
scornful  astonishment. 

"Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody,  with  a 
suspicious  assumption  of  sudden  defence, 
"you  injure  yourself,  you  injure  me,  by 
this  exclusive  attitude.  Mr.  Ryder  is  a 
friend  of  your  father's,  an  exceedingly 
well-informed  gentleman.  I  have  not,  of 
course,  imparted  to  him  the  extent  of  my 
suspicions.  But  he  can  help  me  to  what 
I  must  and  will  know.  You  might  treat 
him  a  little  more  civilly — or,  at  least,  a 


'THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.      455 

little  better  than  you  do  his  servant,  your 
guide.  Mr.  Kyder  is  a  gentleman,  and 
not  a  paid  courier." 

Miss  Alice  was  suddenly  attentive. 
When  she  spoke  again,  she  asked,  "Why 
do  you  not  find  out  something  about  this 
Silsbie — who  died — or  was  hung — or 
something  of  that  kind?" 

"Child!"  said  Mrs.  Kightbody,  "don't 
you  see  there  was  no  Silsbie,  or,  if  there 
was,  he  was  simply  the  confidant  of  that — 
woman  ?" 

A  knock  at  the  door,  announcing  the 
presence  of  Mr.  E-yder  and  Stanislaus  Joe 
with  the  horses,  checked  Mrs.  Rightbody's 
speech.  As  the  animals  were  being  packed, 
Mrs.  Rightbody  for  a  moment  withdrew  in 
confidential  conversation  with  Mr.  Ryder, 
and,  to  the  young  lady's  still  greater  an- 
noyance, left  her  alone  with  Stanislaus 
Joe.  Miss  Alice  was  not  in  good  temper, 
but  she  felt  it  necessary  to  say  something. 

"I  hope  the  hotel  offers  better  quarters 
for  travellers  than  this  in  summer,"  she 
began. 

"It  does." 

"Then  this  does  not  belong  to  it  ?" 

"No,  ma'am." 


456       TEE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

"Who  lives  here,  then?'7 

"I  do." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  stammered  Miss 
Alice,  "I  thought  you  lived  where  we 
hired — where  we  met  you — in — in —  You 
must  excuse  me." 

"I'm  not  a  regular  guide;  but  as  times 
were  hard,  and  I  was  out  of  grub,  I  took 
the  job." 

"Out  of  grub!"  "job!"  And  she  was 
the  "job."  What  would  Henry  Marvin 
say  ?  It  would  nearly  kill  him.  She  be- 
gan herself  to  feel  a  little  frightened,  and 
walked  towards  the  door. 

"One  moment,  miss !" 

The  young  girl  hesitated.  The  man's 
tone  was  surly,  and  yet  indicated  a  certain 
kind  of  half -pathetic  grievance.  Her  curi- 
osity got  the  better  of  her  prudence,  and 
she  turned  back. 

"This  morning,"  he  began  hastily, 
"when  we  were  coming  down  the  valley, 
you  picked  me  up  twice." 

"I  picked  you  up  ?"  repeated  the  aston- 
ished Alice. 

"Yes,  contradicted  me:  that's  what  I 
mean, — once  when  you  said  those  rocks 
were  volcanic,  once  when  you  said  the 


THE  GREAT  DEAD  WOOD  MYSTERY.  457 

flower  you  picked  was  a  poppy.  I  didn't 
let  on  at  the  time,  for  it  wasn't  my  say; 
but  all  the  while  you  were  talking  I  might 
have  laid  for  you — " 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Alice 
haughtily. 

"I  might  have  entrapped  you  before 
folks.  But  I  only  want  you  to  know  that 
Fm  right,  and  here  are  the  books  to 
show  it." 

He  drew  aside  the  dingy  calico  curtain, 
revealed  a  small  shelf  of  bulky  books,  took 
down  two  large  volumes, — one  of  botany, 
one  of  geology, — nervously  sought  his  text, 
and  put  them  in  Alice's  outstretched  hands. 

"I  had  no  intention — "  she  began,  half- 
proudly,  half-embarrassedly. 

"Am  I  right,  miss  ?"  he  interrupted. 

"I  presume  you  are,  if  you  say  so." 

"That's  all,  ma'am.     Thank  you !" 

Before  the  girl  had  time  to  reply,  he 
was  gone.  When  he  again  returned,  it  was 
with  her  horse,  and  Mrs.  Rightbody  and 
Ryder  were  awaiting  her.  But  Miss  Alice 
noticed  that  his  own  horse  was  missing. 

"Are  you  not  going  with  us  ?"  she  asked. 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Oh,  indeed!" 


458      THE    ORE  AT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

Miss  Alice  felt  her  speech  was  a  feeble 
conventionalism;  but  it  was  all  she  could 
say.  She,  however,  did  something.  Hith- 
erto it  had  been  her  habit  to  systematically 
reject  his  assistance  in  mounting  to  her 
seat.  Now  she  awaited  him.  As  he  ap- 
proached, she  smiled,  and  put  out  her  little 
foot.  He  instantly  stooped;  she  placed  it 
in  his  hand,  rose  with  a  spring,  and  for  one 
supreme  moment  Stanislaus  Joe  held  her 
unresistingly  in  his  arms.  The  next  mo- 
ment she  was  in  the  saddle;  but  in  that 
brief  interval  of  sixty  seconds  she  had  ut- 
tered a  volume  in  a  single  sentence, — 

"I  hope  you  will  forgive  me !" 

He  muttered  a  reply,  and  turned  his  face 
aside  quickly  as  if  to  hide  it. 

Miss  Alice  cantered  forward  with  a 
smile,  but  pulled  her  hat  down  over  her 
eyes  as  she  joined  her  mother.  She  was 
blushing. 


PART  III. 

ME.  RYDEE  was  as  good  as  his  word.  A 
day  or  two  later  he  entered  Mrs.  Right- 
body's  parlor  at  the  Chrysopolis  Hotel  in 
Stockton,  with  the  information  that  he  had 
seen  the  mysterious  senders  of  the  de- 
spatch, and  that  they  were  now  in  the  office 
of  the  hotel  waiting  her  pleasure.  Mr. 
Ryder  further  informed  her  that  these 
gentlemen  had  only  stipulated  that  they 
should  not  reveal  their  real  names,  and 
that  they  be  introduced  to  her  simply  as 
the  respective  "Seventy-Four"  and  "Sev- 
enty-Five" who  had  signed  the  despatch 
sent  to  the  late  Mr.  Rightbody. 

Mrs.  Rightbody  at  first  demurred  to 
this ;  but,  on  the  assurance  from  Mr.  Ryder 
that  this  was  the  only  condition  on  which 
an  interview  would  be  granted,  finally  con- 
sented. 

"You  will  find  them  square  men,  even 
if  they  are  a  little  rough,  ma'am.  But,  if 
459 


460     THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

you'd  like  me  to  be  present,  I'll  stop; 
though  I  reckon,  if  ye'd  calkilated  on  that, 
you'd  have  had  me  take  care  o'  your  busi- 
ness by  proxy,  and  not  come  yourself  three 
thousand  miles  to  do  it." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  believed  it  better  to  see 
them  alone. 

"All  right,  ma'am.  I'll  hang  round  out 
here;  and  ef  ye  should  happen  to  have  a 
ticklin'  in  your  throat,  and  a  bad  spell  o' 
coughin',  I'll  drop  in,  careless  like,  to  see 
if  you  don't  want  them  drops.  Sabe?" 

And  with  an  exceedingly  arch  wink,  and 
a  slight  familiar  tap  on  Mrs.  Rightbody's 
shoulder,  which  might  have  caused  the  late 
Mr.  Rightbody  to  burst  his  sepulchre,  he 
withdrew. 

A  very  timid,  hesitating  tap  on  the  door 
was  followed  by  the  entrance  of  two  men, 
both  of  whom,  in  general  size,  strength, 
and  uncouthness,  were  ludicrously  incon- 
sistent with  their  diffident  announcement. 
They  proceeded  in  Indian  file  to  the  cen- 
tre of  the  room,  faced  Mrs.  Rightbody, 
acknowledged  her  deep  courtesy  by  a 
strong  shake  of  the  hand,  and,  drawing 
two  chairs  opposite  to  her,  sat  down  side 
by  side. 


THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.     461 

"I  presume  I  have  the  pleasure  of  ad- 
dressing—  "  began  Mrs.  Bightbody. 

The  man  directly  opposite  Mrs.  Right- 
body  turned  to  the  other  inquiringly. 

The  other  man  nodded  his  head,  and  re- 
plied,— 

"Seventy-Pour." 

"Seventy-Five,"  promptly  followed  the 
other. 

Mrs.  Eightbody  paused,  a  little  con- 
fused. 

"I  have  sent  for  you,"  she  began  again, 
"to  learn  something  more  of  the  circum- 
stances under  which  you  gentlemen  sent  a 
despatch  to  my  late  husband." 

"The  circumstances,"  replied  Seventy- 
Four  quietly,  with  a  side-glance  at  his 
companion,  "panned  out  about  in  this  yer 
style.  We  hung  a  man  named  Josh 
Silsbie,  down  at  Deadwood,  for  hoss- 
stealin'.  When  I  say  we,  I  speak  for  Sev- 
enty-Five yer  as  is  present,  as  well  as 
representing  so  to  speak,  seventy-two  other 
gents  as  is  scattered.  We  hung  Josh  Sils- 
bie on  squar,  pretty  squar,  evidence. 
Afore  he  was  strung  up,  Seventy-Five  yer 
axed  him,  accordin'  to  custom,  ef  ther  was 
enny  thing  he  had  to  say,  or  enny  request 


462     THE    ORE  AT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

that  he  allowed  to  make  of  us.  He  turns 
to  Seventy-Five  yer,  and — " 

Here  he  paused  suddenly,  looking  at  his 
companion. 

"He  sez,  sez  he,"  began  Seventy-Five, 
taking  up  the  narrative, — "he  sez,  'Kin  I 
write  a  letter  ?'  sez  he.  Sez  I,  'Not  much, 
ole  man :  ye've  got  no  time.'  Sez  he,  'Kin 
I  send  a  despatch  by  telegraph?7  I  sez, 
'Heave  ahead.'  He  sez, — these  is  his 
dientikal  words, — 'Send  to  Adam  Right- 
body,  Boston.  Tell  him  to  remember  his 
sacred  compack  with  me  thirty  years  ago.' ' 

"  'His  sacred  compack  with  me  thirty 
years  ago,'  "  echoed  Seventy-Four, — "his 
dientikal  words." 

"What  was  the  compact?"  asked  Mrs. 
Rightbody  anxiously. 

Seventy-Four  looked  at  Seventy-Five, 
and  then  both  arose,  and  retired  to  the 
corner  of -the  parlor,  where  they  engaged 
in  a  slow  but  whispered  deliberation. 
Presently  they  returned,  and  sat  down 
again. 

"We  allow,"  said  Seventy-Four,  quietly 
but  decidedly,  "that  you  know  what  that 
sacred  compact  was." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  lost  her  temper  and  her 


THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.      463 

truthfulness  together.  "Of  course,"  she 
said  hurriedly,  "I  know.  But  do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  gave  this  poor  man 
no  further  chance  to  explain  before  you 
murdered  him?" 

Seventy-Four  and  Seventy-Five  both 
rose  again  slowly,  and  retired.  When  they 
returned  again,  and  sat  down,  Seventy- 
Five,  who  by  this  time,  through  some  sub- 
tle magnetism,  Mrs.  Eightbody  began  to 
recognize  as  the  superior  power,  said 
gravely,— 

"We  wish  to  say,  regarding  this  yer 
murder,  that  Seventy-Four  and  me  is 
equally  responsible ;  that  we  reckon  also  to 
represent,  so  to  speak,  seventy-two  other 
gentlemen  as  is  scattered;  that  we  are 
ready,  Seventy-Four  and  me,  to  take  and 
holt  that  responsibility,  now  and  at  any 
time,  afore  every  man  or  men  as  kin  be 
fetched  agin  us.  We  wish  to  say  that  this 
yer  say  of  ours  holds  good  yer  in  Cali- 
forny,  or  in  any  part  of  these  United 
States." 

aOr  in  Canady,"  suggested  Seventy- 
Four. 

"Or  in  Canady.  We  wouldn't  agree  to 
cross  the  water,  or  go  to  furrin  parts,  un- 


464     THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

less  absolutely  necessary.  We  leaves  the 
chise  of  weppings  to  your  principal, 
ma'am,  or  being  a  lady,  ma'am,  and  in- 
terested, to  any  one  you  may  fetch  to  act 
for  him.  An  advertisement  in  any  of  the 
Sacramento  papers,  or  a  playcard  or  hand- 
bill stuck  unto  a  tree  near  Deadwood,  say- 
ing that  Seventy-Four  or  Seventy-Five 
will  communicate  with  this  yer  principal 
or  agent  of  yours,  will  fetch  us — allers." 

Mrs.  Rightbody,  a  little  alarmed  and 
desperate,  saw  her  blunder.  "I  mean 
nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  said  hastily.  "I 
only  expected  that  you  might  have  some 
further  details  of  this  interview  with  Sils- 
bie;  that  perhaps  you  could  tell  me — " 
a  bold,  bright  thought  crossed  Mrs.  Eight- 
body's  mind — "something  more  about  her." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other. 

"I  suppose  your  society  have  no  objec- 
tion to  giving  me  information  about  her" 
said  Mrs.  Rightbody  eagerly. 

Another  quiet  conversation  in  the  cor- 
ner, and  the  return  of  both  men. 

"We  want  to  say  that  we've  no  objec- 
tion." 

Mrs.  Rightbody's  heart  beat  high.  Her 
boldness  had  made  her  penetration  good. 


TEE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.     465 

Yet  she  felt  she  must  not  alarm  the  men 
heedlessly. 

"Will  you  inform  me  to  what  extent  Mr. 
Rightbody,  my  late  husband,  was  inter- 
ested in  her  ?" 

This  time  it  seemed  an  age  to  Mrs. 
Rightbody  before  the  men  returned  from 
their  solemn  consultation  in  the  corner. 
She  could  both  hear  and  feel  that  their  dis- 
cussion was  more  animated  than  their  pre- 
vious conferences.  She  was  a  little  morti- 
fied, however,  when  they  sat  down,  to  hear 
Seventy-Four  say  slowly, — 

"We  wish  to  say  that  we  don't  allow  to 
say  how  much." 

"Do  you  not  think  that  the  'sacred  com- 
pact' between  Mr.  Rightbody  and  Mr.  Sils- 
bie  referred  to  her  ?" 

"We  reckon  it  do." 

Mrs.  Rightbody,  flushed  and  animated, 
would  have  given  worlds  had  her  daughter 
been  present  to  hear  this  undoubted  con- 
firmation of  her  theory.  Yet  she  felt  a 
little  nervous  and  uncomfortable  even  on 
this  threshold  of  discovery. 

"Is  she  here  now  ?" 

"She's  in  Tuolumne,"  said  Seventy- 
Four. 


466      THE    GREAT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

"A  little  better  looked  arter  than  for- 
merly/7 added  Seventy-Five. 

"I  see.  Then  Mr.  Silsbie  enticed  her 
away  ?" 

"Well,  ma'am,  it  was  allowed  as  she 
runned  away.  But  it  wasn't  proved,  and 
it  generally  wasn't  her  style." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  trifled  with  her  next 
question. 

"She  was  pretty,  of  course  ?" 

The  eyes  of  both  men  brightened. 

"She  was  that  I"  said  Seventy-Four  em- 
phatically. 

"It  would  have  done  you  good  to  see 
her!"  added  Seventy-Five. 

Mrs.  Rightbody  inwardly  doubted  it; 
but,  before  she  could  ask  another  question, 
the  two  men  again  retired  to  the  corner  for 
consultation.  When  they  came  back,  there 
was  a  shade  more  of  kindliness  and  confi- 
dence in  their  manner;  and  Seventy-Four 
opened  his  mind  more  freely. 

"We  wish  to  say,  ma'am,  looking  at  the 
thing,  by  and  large,  in  a  far-minded  way, 
that,  'ez  you  seem  interested,  and  ez  Mr. 
Rightbody  was  interested,  and  was,  accord- 
ing to  all  accounts,  deceived  and  led  away 
by  Silsbie,  that  we  don't  mind  listening  to 


TEE    GREAT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.    467 

any  proposition  you  might  make,  as  a 
lady — allowin'  you  was  ekally  inter- 
ested." 

"I  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Kightbody 
quickly.  "And  you  will  furnish  me  with 
any  papers  ?" 

The  two  men  again  consulted. 

"We  wish  to  say,  ma'am,  that  we  think 
she's  got  papers,  but — " 

"I  must  have  them,  you  understand," 
interrupted  Mrs.  Kightbody,  "at  any 
price." 

"We  was  about  to  say,  ma'am,"  said 
Seventy-Four  slowly,  "that,  considerin'  all 
things, — and  you  being  a  lady — you  kin 
have  her,  papers,  pedigree,  and  guaranty, 
for  -twelve  hundred  dollars." 

It  has  been  alleged  that  Mrs.  Eightbody 
asked  only  one  question  more,  and  then 
fainted.  It  is  known,  however,  that  by 
the  next  day  it  was  understood  in  Dead- 
wood  that  Mrs.  Rightbody  had  confessed  to 
the  Vigilance  Committee  that  her  husband, 
a  celebrated  Boston  millionaire,  anxious  to 
gain  possession  of  Abner  Springer's  well- 
known  sorrel  mare,  had  incited  the  unfor- 
tunate Josh  Silsbie  to  steal  it;  and  that 
'finally,  failing  in  this,  the  widow  of  the 


468      TEE    GREAT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

deceased  Boston  millionaire  was  now  in 
personal  negotiation  with  the  owners. 

Howbeit,  Miss  Alice,  returning  home 
that  afternoon,  found  her  mother  with  a 
violent  headache. 

"We  will  leave  here  by  the  next 
steamer,"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody  languidly. 
"Mr.  Ryder  has  promised  to  accompany 
us." 

"But,  mother—" 

"The  climate,  Alice,  is  over-rated.  My 
nerves  are  already  suffering  from  it.  The 
associations  are  unfit  for  you,  and  Mr. 
Marvin  is  naturally  impatient." 

Miss  Alice  colored  slightly. 

"But  your  quest,  mother?" 

"I've  abandoned  it." 

"But  I  have  not,"  said  Alice  quietly. 
"Do  you  remember  my  guide  at  the  Yo 
Semite, — Stanislaus  Joe?  Well,  Stanis- 
laus Joe  is — who  do  you  think  ?" 

Mrs.  Rightbody  was  languidly  indif- 
ferent. 

"Well,  Stanislaus  Joe  is  the  son  of 
Joshua  Silsbie." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  sat  upright  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Yes.     But,  mother,  he  knows  nothing 


THE    GREAT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.    469 

of  what  we  know.  His  father  treated  him 
shamefully,  and  set  him  cruelly  adrift 
years  ago;  and,  when  he  was  hung,  the 
poor  fellow,  in  sheer  disgrace,  changed  his 
name." 

"But,  if  he  knows  nothing  of  his  father's 
compact,  of  what  interest  is  this  ?" 

"Oh,  nothing !  Only  I  thought  it  might 
lead  to  something." 

Mrs.  Righthody  suspected  that  "some- 
thing," and  asked  sharply,  "And  pray  how 
did  you  find  it  out  ?  You  did  not  speak  of 
it  in  the  valley." 

"Oh !  I  didn't  find  it  out  till  to-day," 
said  Miss  Alice,  walking  to  the  window. 
"He  happened  to  be  here,  and — told  me." 


PAET  IV. 

IF  Mrs.  Rightbody's  friends  had  been 
astounded  by  her  singular  and  unexpected 
pilgrimage  to  California  so  soon  after  her 
husband's  decease,  they  were  still  more 
astounded  by  the  information,  a  year  later, 
that  she  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  a 
Mr.  Ryder,  of  whom  only  the  scant  history 
was  known,  that  he  was  a  Californian,  and 
former  correspondent  of  her  husband.  It 
was  undeniable  that  the  man  was  wealthy, 
and  evidently  no  mere  adventurer;  it  was 
rumored  that  he  was  courageous  and 
manly :  but  even  those  who  delighted  in  his 
odd  humor  were  shocked  at  his  grammar 
and  slang. 

It  was  said  that  Mr.  Marvin  had  but 
one  interview  with  his  father-in-law 
elect,  and  returned  so  supremely  dis- 
gusted, that  the  match  was  broken  off. 
The  horse-stealing  story,  more  or  less  gar- 
bled, found  its  way  through  lips  that  pre- 
470 


THE    GREAT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.     471 

tended  to  decry  it,  yet  eagerly  repeated  it. 
Only  one  member  of  the  Rightbody  fam- 
ily— and  a  new  one — saved  them  from 
utter  ostracism.  It  was  young  Mr.  Ryder, 
the  adopted  son  of  the  prospective  head  of 
the  household,  whose  culture,  manners,  and 
general  elegance,  fascinated  and  thrilled 
Boston  with  a  new  sensation.  It  seemed 
to  many  that  Miss  Alice  should,  in  the 
vicinity  of  this  rare  exotic,  forget  her 
former  enthusiasm  for  a  professional  life ; 
but  the  young  man  was  pitied  by  society, 
and  various  plans  for  diverting  him  from 
any  mesalliance  with  the  Rightbody  fam- 
ily were  concocted. 

It  was  a  wintry  night,  and  the  second 
anniversary  of  Mr.  Rightbody's  death,  that 
a  light  was  burning  in  his  library.  But 
the  dead  man's  chair  was  occupied  by 
young  Mr.  Ryder,  adopted  son  of  the  new 
proprietor  of  the  mansion ;  and  before  him 
stood  Alice,  with  her  dark  eyes  fixed  on 
the  table. 

"There  must  have  been  something  in  it, 
Joe,  believe  me.  Did  you  never  hear  your 
father  speak  of  mine  ?" 

"Never." 

"But  you  say  he  was  college-bred,  and 


472      THE   GREAT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

born  a  gentleman,  and  in  his  youth  he  must 
have  had  many  friends." 

"Alice,"  said  the  young  man  gravely, 
"when  I  have  done  something  to  redeem 
my  name,  and  wear  it  again  before  these 
people,  before  you,  it  would  be  well  to  re- 
vive the  past.  But  till  then — " 

But  Alice  was  not  to  be  put  down.  "I 
remember,"  she  went  on,  scarcely  heeding 
him,  "that,  when  I  came  in  that  night, 
papa  was  reading  a  letter,  and  seemed  to 
be  disconcerted." 

"A  letter?" 

"Yes;  but,"  added  Alice,  with  a  sigh, 
"when  we  found  him  here  insensible,  there 
was  no  letter  on  his  person.  He  must 
have  destroyed  it." 

"Did  you  ever  look  among  his  papers  ? 
If  found,  it  might  be  a  clew." 

The  young  man  glanced  toward  the  cab- 
inet. Alice  read  his  eyes,  and  answered, — 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  The  cabinet  contained 
only  his  papers,  all  perfectly  arranged, — 
you  know  how  methodical  were  his  hab- 
its,— and  some  old  business  and  private 
letters,  all  carefully  put  away." 

"Let  us  see  them,"  said  the  young  man. 
rising. 


THE   GREAT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.     473 

They  opened  drawer  after  drawer;  files 
upon  files  of  letters  and  business  papers, 
accurately  folded  and  filed.  Suddenly 
Alice  uttered  a  little  cry,  and  picked  up  a 
quaint  ivory  paper-knife  lying  at  the  bot- 
tom of  a  drawer. 

"It  was  missing  the  next  day,  and  never 
could  be  found:  he  must  have  mislaid  it 
here.  This  is  the  drawer,"  said  Alice 
eagerly. 

Here  was  a  clew.  But  the  lower  part  of 
the  drawer  was  filled  with  old  letters,  not 
labelled,  yet  neatly  arranged  in  files.  Sud- 
denly he  stopped,  and  said,  "Put  them 
back,  Alice,  at  once." 

"Why?" 

"Some  of  these  letters  are  in  my  father's 
handwriting." 

"The  more  reason  why  I  should  see 
them,"  said  the  girl  imperatively.  "Here, 
you  take  part,  and  I'll  take  part,  and  we'll 
get  through  quicker." 

There  was  a  certain  decision  and  inde- 
pendence in  her  manner  which  he  had 
learned  to  respect.  He  took  the  letters, 
and  in  silence  read  them  with  her.  They 
were  old  college  letters,  so  filled  with 
boyish  dreams,  ambitions,  aspirations,  and 


474       THE    GREAT    DEADWOOD    MYSTERY. 

Utopian  theories,  that  I  fear  neither  of 
these  young  people  even  recognized  their 
parents  in  the  dead  ashes  of  the  past. 
They  were  both  grave,  until  Alice  uttered  a 
little  hysterical  cry,  and  dropped  her  face  in 
her  hands.  Joe  was  instantly  beside  her. 

"It's  nothing,  Joe,  nothing.  Don't  read 
it,  please;  please,  don't.  It's  so  funny! 
it's  so  very  queer!" 

But  Joe  had,  after  a  slight,  half -playful 
struggle,  taken  the  letter  from  the  girl. 
Then  he  read  aloud  the  words  written  by 
his  father  thirty  years  ago. 

"I  thank  you,  dear  friend,  for  all  you 
say  about  my  wife  and  boy.  I  thank  you 
for  reminding  me  of  our  boyish  compact. 
He  will  be  ready  to  fulfil  it,  I  know,  if  he 
loves -those  his  father  loves,  even  if  you 
should  marry  years  later.  I  am  glad  for 
your  sake,  for  both  our  sakes,  that  it  is  a 
boy.  Heaven  send  you  a  good  wife,  dear 
Adams,  and  a  daughter,  to  make  my  son 
equally  happy." 

Joe  Silsbie  looked  down,  took  the  half- 
laughing,  half-tearful  face  in  his  hands, 
kissed  her  forehead,  and,  with  tears  in  his 
grave  eyes,  said,  "Amen !" 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  this  senti- 


THE    GREAT   DEADWOOD    MYSTERY.     475 

merit  was  echoed  heartily  by  Mrs.  Right- 
body's  former  acquaintances,  when,  a  year 
later,  Miss  Alice  was  united  to  a  profes- 
sional gentleman  of  honor  and  renown,  yet 
who  was  known  to  be  the  son  of  a  convicted 
horse-thief.  A  few  remembered  the  pre- 
vious Californian  story,  and  found  cor- 
roboration  therefor;  but  a  majority  be- 
lieved it  a  just  reward  to  Miss  Alice  for 
her  conduct  to  Mr.  Marvin,  and,  as  Miss 
Alice  cheerfully  accepted  it  in  that  light, 
I  do  not  see  why  I  may  not  end  my  story 
with  happiness  to  all  concerned. 


A  LEGEND  OF  SAMMTSTADT. 


IT  was  the  sacred  hour  of  noon  at 
Sammtstadt.  Everybody  was  at  dinner; 
and  the  serious  Kellner  of  "Der  Wilde- 
mann"  glanced  in  mild  reproach  at  Mr. 
James  Clinch^  who,  disregarding  that  fact 
and  the  invitatory  table  d'hote,  stepped 
into  the  street.  For  Mr.  Clinch  had  eaten 
a  late  breakfast  at  Gladbach,  was  dyspeptic 
and  American,  and,  moveover,  preoccupied 
with  business.  He  was  consequently  in- 
dignant, on  entering  the  garden-like  court 
and  cloister-like  counting-house  of  "Von 
Becheret,  Sons,  Uncles,  and  Cousins,"  to 
find  the  comptoir  deserted  even  by  the 
porter,  and  was  furious  at  the  maid- 
servant, who  offered  the  sacred  shibboleth 
"Mittagsessen"  as  a  reasonable  explanation 
of  the  solitude.  "A  country,"  said  Mr. 
Clinch  to  himself,  "that  stops  business  at 
mid-day  to  go  to  dinner,  and  employs 
476 


A    LEGEND    OF   8AMMT8TADT.       477 

women-servants  to  talk  to  business-men,  is 
played  out." 

He  stepped  from  the  silent  building  into 
the  equally  silent  Kronprinzen  Strasse. 
Not  a  soul  to  be  seen  anywhere.  Rows  on 
rows  of  two-storied,  gray-stuccoed  build- 
ings that  might  be  dwellings,  or  might  be 
offices,  all  showing  some  traces  of  feminine 
taste  and  supervision  in  a  flower  or  a  cur- 
tain that  belied  the  legended  "Comptoir," 
or  "Direction,"  over  their  portals.  Mr. 
Clinch  thought  of  Boston  and  State  Street, 
of  New  York  and  Wall  Street,  and  became 
coldly  contemptuous. 

Yet  there  was  clearly  nothing  to  do  but 
to  walk  down  the  formal  rows  of  chestnuts 
that  lined  the  broad  Strasse,  and  then  walk 
back  again.  At  the  corner  of  the  first 
cross-street  he  was  struck  with  the  fact  that 
two  men  who  were  standing  in  front  of  a 
dwelling-house  appeared  to  be  as  incon- 
sistent, and  out  of  proportion  to  the  silent 
houses,  as  were  the  actors  on  a  stage  to  the 
painted  canvas  thoroughfares  before  which 
they  strutted.  Mr.  Clinch  usually  had  no 
fancies,  had  no  eye  for  quaintness;  be- 
sides, this  was  not  a  quaint  nor  romantic 
district,  only  an  entrepot  for  silks  and  vel- 


478       A    LEGEND    OF   8AMMT8TADT. 

vets,  and  Mr.  Clinch  was  here,  not  as  a 
tourist,  but  as  a  purchaser.  The  guide- 
books had  ignored  Sammtstadt,  and  he  was 
too  good  an  American  to  waste  time  in 
looking  up  uncatalogued  curiosities.  Be- 
sides, he  had  been  here  once  before, — an 
entire  day! 

One  o'clock.  Still  a  full  hour  and  a 
half  before  his  friend  would  return  to 
business.  What  should  he  do?  The 
Verein  where  he  had  once  been  entertained 
was  deserted  even  by  its  waiters;  the 
garden,  with  its  ostentatious  out-of-door 
tables,  looked  bleak  and  bare.  Mr.  Clinch 
was  not  artistic  in  his  tastes;  but  even  he 
was  quick  to  detect  the  affront  put  upon 
Nature  by  this  continental,  theatrical  gar- 
dening, and  turned  disgustedly  away. 
Born  near  a  "lake"  larger  than  the  German 
Ocean,  he  resented  a  pool  of  water  twenty- 
five  feet  in  diameter  under  that  alluring 
title;  and,  a  frequenter  of  the  Adiron- 
dacks,  he  could  scarce  contain  himself  over 
a  bit  of  rock-work  twelve  feet  high.  "A 
country,"  said  Mr.  Clinch,  "that—"  but 
here  he  remembered  that  he  had  once  seen 
in  a  park  in  his  native  city  an  imitation  of 
the  Drachenfels  in  plaster,  on  a  scale  of 


A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT.       479 

two  inches  to  the  foot,  and  checked  his 
speech. 

He  turned  into  the  principal  allee  of  the 
town.  There  was  a  long  white  building  at 
one  end, — the  Bahnhof:  at  the  other  end 
he  remembered  a  dye-house.  He  had,  a 
year  ago,  met  its  hospitable  proprietor :  he 
would  call  upon  him  now. 

But  the  same  solitude  confronted  him  as 
he  passed  the  porter's  lodge  beside  the 
gateway.  The  counting-house,  half  villa, 
half  factory,  must  have  convoked  its  hu- 
manity in  some  out-of-the-way  refectory, 
for  the  halls  and  passages  were  tenantless. 
For  the  first  time  he  began  to  be  impressed 
with  a  certain  foreign  quaintness  in  the 
surroundings;  he  found  himself  also  re- 
calling something  he  had  read  when  a  boy, 
about  an  enchanted  palace  whose  inhab- 
itants awoke  on  the  arrival  of  a  long-pre- 
destined Prince.  To  assure  himself  of  the 
absolute  ridiculousness  of  this  fancy,  he 
took  from  his  pocket  the  business-card  of 
its  proprietor,  a  sample  of  dye,  and  re- 
called his  own  personality  in  a  letter  of 
credit.  Having  dismissed  this  idea  from 
his  mind,  he  lounged  on  again  through  a, 
rustic  lane  that  might  have  led  to  a  farm- 


480       A   LEGEND   OF   SAMMT8TADT. 

house,  yet  was  still,  absurdly  enough,  a 
part  of  the  factory  gardens.  Crossing  a 
ditch  by  a  causeway,  he  presently  came  to 
another  ditch  and  another  causeway,  and 
then  found  himself  idly  contemplating  a 
massive,  ivy-clad,  venerable  brick  wall. 
As  a  mere  wall  it  might  not  have  attracted 
his  attention;  but  it  seemed  to  enter  and 
bury  itself  at  right  angles  in  the  side-wall 
of  a  quite  modern-looking  dwelling. 
After  satisfying  himself  of  this  fact,  he 
passed  on  before  the  dwelling,  but  was 
amazed  to  see  the  wall  reappear  on  the 
other  side  exactly  the  same. — old,  ivy- 
grown,  sturdy,  uncompromising,  and  ridic- 
ulous. 

Could  it  actually  be  a  part  of  the 
house  ?  He  turned  back,  and  repassed  the 
front  of  the  building.  The  entrance  door 
was  hospitably  open.  There  was  a  hall  and 
a  staircase,  but — by  all  that  was  prepos- 
terous!— they  were  built  over  and  around 
the  central  brick  intrusion.  The  wall 
actually  ran  through  the  house !  "A  coun- 
try," said  Mr.  Clinch  to  himself,  "where 
they  build  their  houses  over  ruins  to 
accommodate  them,  or  save  the  trouble  of 
removal,  is, —  '  but  a  very  pleasant  voice 


A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT.       481 

addressing  him.  here  stopped  his  usual 
hasty  conclusion. 

"Guten  M  or  gen!" 

Mr.  Clinch  looked  hastily  up.  Leaning 
on  the  parapet  of  what  appeared  to  be  a 
garden  on  the  roof  of  the  house  was 
a  young  girl,  red-cheeked,  bright-eyed, 
blond-haired.  The  voice  was  soft,  sub- 
dued, and  mellow ;  it  was  part  of  the  new 
impression  he  was  receiving,  that  it  seemed 
to  be  in  some  sort  connected  with  the  ivy- 
clad  wall  before  him.  His  hat  was  in  his 
hand  as  he  answered, — 

"GutenMorgen!" 

"Was  the  Herr  seeking  anything?" 

"The  Herr  was  only  waiting  a  long- 
time-coming friend,  and  had  strayed  here  to 
speak  with  the  before-known  proprietor." 

"So  ?  But,  the  before-known  proprietor 
sleeping  well  at  present  after  dinner,  would 
the  Herr  on  the  terrace  still  a  while 
linger?" 

The  Herr  would,  but  looked  around  in 
vain  for  the  means  to  do  it.  He  was 
thinking  of  a  scaling-ladder,  when  the 
young  woman  reappeared  at  the  open 
door,  and  bade  him  enter. 

Following    the   youthful   hostess,    Mr. 


482       A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT. 

Clinch  mounted  the  staircase,  but,  passing 
the  mysterious  wall,  could  not  forbear  an 
allusion  to  it.  "It  is  old,  very  old,"  said 
the  girl:  "it  was  here  when  I  came." 

"That  was  not  very  long  ago,"  said  Mr. 
Clinch  gallantly. 

"No ;  but  my  grandfather  found  it  here 
too." 

"And  built  over  it?" 

"Why  not  ?  It  is  very,  very  hard,  and 
so  thick." 

Mr.  Clinch  here  explained,  with  mas- 
culine superiority,  the  existence  of  such 
modern  agents  as  nitro-glycerine  and 
dynamite,  persuasive  in  their  effects  upon 
time-honored  obstructions  and  encum- 
brances. 

"But  there  was  not  then  what  you  call — 
this — ni — nitro-glycerine." 

"But  since  then  2" 

The  young  girl  gazed  at  him  in  troubled 
surprise.  "My  great-grandfather  did  not 
take  it  away  when  he  built  the  house :  why 
should  we?" 

"Oh!" 

They  had  passed  through  a  hall  and 
dining-room,  and  suddenly  stepped  out  of 
a  window  upon  a  gravelled  terrace.  From 


A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT.       483 

this  a  few  stone  steps  descended  to  another 
terrace,  on  which  trees  and  shrubs  were 
growing ;  and  yet,  looking  over  the  parapet, 
Mr.  Clinch  could  see  the  road  some  twenty 
feet  below.  It  was  nearly  on  a  level  with, 
and  part  of,  the  second  story  of  the  house. 
Had  an  earthquake  lifted  the  adjacent 
ground  ?  or  had  the  house  burrowed  into  a 
hill  ?  Mr.  Clinch  turned  to  his  companion, 
who  was  standing  close  beside  him,  breath- 
ing quite  audibly,  and  leaving  an  impres- 
sion on  his  senses  as  of  a  gentle  and  fra- 
grant heifer. 

"How  was  all  this  done  ?" 

The  maiden  did  not  know.  "It  was 
always  here." 

Mr.  Clinch  reascended  the  steps.  He 
had  quite  forgotten  his  impatience.  Pos- 
sibly it  was  the  gentle,  equable  calm  of  the 
girl,  who,  but  for  her  ready  color,  did  not 
seem  to  be  moved  by  anything;  perhaps  it 
was  the  peaceful  repose  of  this  mausoleum 
of  the  dead  and  forgotten  wall  that  sub- 
dued him,  but  he  was  quite  willing  to  take 
the  old-fashioned  chair  on  the  terrace 
which  she  offered  him,  and  follow  her  mo- 
tions with  not  altogether  mechanical  eyes 
as  she  drew  out  certain  bottles  and  glasses 
v-  24  P— Bret  Harte 


484       A    LEGEND    OF   8AMMTSTADT. 

from  a  mysterious  closet  in  the  wall.  Mr. 
Clinch  had  the  weakness  of  a  majority  of 
his  sex  in  believing  that  he  was  a  good 
judge  of  wine  and  women.  The  latter,  as 
shown  in  the  specimen  before  him,  he 
would  have  invoiced  as  a  fair  sample  of 
the  middle-class  German  woman, — healthy, 
comfort-loving,  home-abiding,  the  very 
genius  of  domesticity.  Even  in  her  virgin 
outlines  the  future  wholesome  matron  was 
already  forecast,  from  the  curves  of  her 
broad  hips,  to  the  flat  lines  of  her  back 
and  shoulders.  Of  the  wine  he  was  to 
judge  later.  That  required  an  even  more 
subtle  and  unimpassioned  intellect. 

She  placed  two  bottles  before  him  on  the 
table, — one,  the  traditional  long-necked, 
amber-colored  Rheinflasche ;  the  other, 
an  old,  quaint,  discolored,  amphorax-pat- 
terned  glass  jug.  The  first  she  opened. 

"This,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  other, 
"cannot  be  opened." 

Mr.  Clinch  paid  his  respects  first  to  the 
opened  bottle,  a  good  quality  of  Nier- 
steiner.  With  his  intellect  thus  clarified, 
he  glanced  at  the  other. 

"It  is  from  my  great-grandfather.  It  is 
old  as  the  wall." 


A    LEGEND    OF   8AMMTSTADT.       485 

Mr.  Clinch  examined  the  bottle  atten- 
tively. It  seemed  to  have  no  cork. 
Formed  of  some  obsolete,  opaque  glass,  its 
twisted  neck  was  apparently  hermetically 
sealed  by  the  same  material.  The  maiden 
smiled,  as  she  said, — 

"It  cannot  be  opened  now  without  break- 
ing the  bottle.  It  is  not  good  luck  to  do 
so.  My  grandfather  and  my  father  would 
not." 

But  Mr.  Clinch  was  still  examining  the 
bottle.  Its  neck  was  flattened  towards  the 
mouth;  but  a  close  inspection  showed  it 
was  closed  by  some  equally  hard  cement, 
but  not  glass. 

"If  I  can  open  it  without  breaking  the 
bottle,  have  I  your  permission?" 

A  mischievous  glance  rested  on  Mr. 
Clinch,  as  the  maiden  answered, — 

"I  shall  not  object;  but  for  what  will 
you  do  it  ?" 

"To  taste  it,  to  try  it." 

"You  are  not  afraid  P 

There  was  just  enough  obvious  admira- 
tion of  Mr.  Clinch's  audacity  in  the 
maiden's  manner  to  impel  him  to  any  risk. 
His  only  answer  was  to  take  from  his 
pocket  a  small  steel  instrument.  Holding 


486       A   LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT. 

the  neck  of  the  bottle  firmly  in  one  hand, 
he  passed  his  thumb  and  the  steel  twice  or 
thrice  around  it.  A  faint  rasping,  scratch- 
ing sound  was  all  the  wondering  girl  heard. 
Then,  with  a  sudden,  dexterous  twist  of 
his  thumb  and  finger,  to  her  utter  astonish- 
ment he  laid  the  top  of  the  neck,  neatly  cut 
off,  in  her  hand. 

"There's  a  better  and  more  modern  bot- 
tle than  you  had  before,"  he  said,  pointing 
to  the  cleanly-divided  neck,  "and  any  cork 
will  fit  it  now." 

But  the  girl  regarded  him  with  anxiety. 
"'And  you  still  wish  to  taste  the  wine  ?" 

"With  your  permission,  yes!" 

He  looked  up  in  her  eyes.  There  was 
permission:  there  was  something  more, 
that  was  flattering  to  his  vanity.  He  took 
the  wine-glass,  and,  slowly  and  in  silence, 
filled  it  from  the  mysterious  flask. 

The  wine  fell  into  the  glass  clearly, 
transparently,  heavily,  but  still  and  cold  as 
death.  There  was  no  sparkle,  no  cheap 
ebullition,  no  evanescent  bubble.  Yet  it 
was  so  clear,  that,  but  for  a  faint  amber- 
tinting,  the  glass  seemed  empty.  There  was 
no  aroma,  no  ethereal  diffusion  from  its 
equable  surface.  Perhaps  it  was  fancy, 


A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT.       487 

perhaps  it  was  from  nervous  excitement; 
but  a  slight  chill  seemed  to  radiate  from 
the  still  goblet,  and  bring  down  the  tem- 
perature of  the  terrace.  Mr.  Clinch  and 
his  companion  both  insensibly  shivered. 

But  only  for  a  moment.  Mr.  Clinch 
raised  the  glass  to  his  lips.  As  he  did  so, 
he  remembered  seeing  distinctly,  as  in  a 
picture  before  him,  the  sunlit  terrace,  the 
pretty  girl  in  the  foreground, — an  amused 
spectator  of  his  sacrilegious  act, — the  out- 
lying ivy-crowned  wall,  the  grass-grown 
ditch,  the  tall  factory  chimneys  rising 
above  the  chestnuts,  and  the  distant  pop- 
lars that  marked  the  Rhine. 

The  wine  was  delicious ;  perhaps  a  trifle , 
only  a  trifle,  heady.  He  was  conscious  of 
a  slight  exaltation.  There  was  also  a 
smile  upon  the  girl's  lip  and  a  roguish' 
twinkle  in  her  eye  as  she  looked  at  him. 

"Do  you  find  the  wine  to  your  taste?" 
she  asked. 

"Fair  enough,  I  warrant,"  said  Mr. 
Clinch  with  ponderous  gallantry ;  "but  me- 
thinks  'tis  nothing  compared  with  the  nec- 
tar that  grows  on  those  ruby  lips.  Nay, 
by  St.  Ursula,  I  swear  it !" 

No  sooner  had  this  solemnly  ridiculous 


488       A    LEGEND    OF   8AMMTSTADT. 

speech  passed  the  lips  of  the  unfortunate 
man  than  he  would  have  given  worlds  to 
have  recalled  it.  He  knew  that  he  must 
be  intoxicated;  that  the  sentiment  and 
language  were  utterly  unlike  him,  he  was 
miserably  aware;  that  he  did  not  even 
know  exactly  what  it  meant,  he  was  also 
hopelessly  conscious.  Yet  feeling  all  this, 
— feeling,  too,  the  shame  of  appearing  be- 
fore her  as  a  man  who  had  lost  his  senses 
through  a  single  glass  of  wine, — neverthe- 
less he  rose  awkwardly,  seized  her  hand, 
and  by  sheer  force  drew  her  towards  him, 
and  kissed  her.  With  an  exclamation  that 
was  half  a  cry  and  half  a  laugh,  she  fled 
from  him,  leaving  him  alone  and  be- 
wildered on  the  terrace. 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Clinch  supported 
himself  against  the  open  window,  leaning 
his  throbbing  head  on  the  cold  glass. 
Shame,  mortification,  an  hysterical  half- 
consciousness  of  his  utter  ridiculousness, 
and  yet  an  odd,  undefined  terror  of  some- 
thing, by  turns  possessed  him.  Was  he 
ever  before  guilty  of  such  perfect  folly? 
Had  he  ever  before  made  such  a  spectacle 
of  himself  ?  Was  it  possible  that  he,  Mr. 
James  Clinch,  the  coolest  head  at  a  late 


A.   LEGEND    OF   8AMMT8TADT.       489 

supper, — he,  the  American,  who  had  re- 
peatedly drunk  Frenchmen  and  English- 
men under  the  table — could  be  transformed 
into  a  sentimental,  stagey  idiot  by  a  single 
glass  of  wine  ?  He  was  conscious,  too,  of 
asking  himself  these  very  questions  in  a 
stilted  sort  of  rhetoric,  and  with  a  rising 
brutality  of  anger  that  was  new  to  him. 
And  then  everything  swam  before  him, 
and  he  seemed  to  lose  all  consciousness. 

But  only  for  an  instant.-  With  a  strong 
effort  of  his  will  he  again  recalled  himself, 
his  situation,  his  surroundings,  and,  above 
all,  his  appointment.  He  rose  to  his  feet, 
hurriedly  descended  the  terrace-steps,  and, 
before  he  well  knew  how,  found  himself 
again  on  the  road.  Once  there,  his  fac- 
ulties returned  in  full  vigor ;  he  was  again 
himself.  He  strode  briskly  forward 
toward  the  ditch  he  had  crossed  only  a 
few  moments  before,  but  was  suddenly 
stopped.  It  was  filled  with  water.  He 
looked  up  and  down.  It  was  clearly  the 
same  diteh;  but  a  flowing  stream  thirty 
feet  wide  now  separated  him  from  the 
other  bank. 

The  appearance  of  this  unlooked-for 
obstacle  made  Mr.  Clinch  doubt  the  full 


490       A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT. 

restoration  of  his  faculties.  He  stepped 
to  the  brink  of  the  flood  to  bathe  his  head 
in  the  stream,  and  wash  away  the  last 
vestiges  of  his  potations.  But  as  he  ap- 
proached the  placid  depths,  and  knelt 
down  he  again  started  back,  and  this  time 
with  a  full  conviction  of  his  own  madness ; 
for  reflected  from  its  mirror-like  surface 
was  a  figure  he  could  scarcely  call  his  own, 
although  here  and  there  some  trace  of  his 
former  self  remained. 

His  close-cropped  hair,  trimmed  a  la 
mode,  had  given  way  to.  long,  curling  locks 
that  dropped  upon  his  shoulders.  His 
neat  mustache  was  frightfully  prolonged, 
and  curled  up  at  the  ends  stiffly.  His 
Piccadilly  collar  had  changed  shape  and 
texture,  and  reached — a  mass  of  lace — to  a 
point  midway  of  his  breast !  His  boots, — 
why  had  he  not  noticed  his  boots  before  ? — 
these  triumphs  of  his  Parisian  bootmaker, 
were  lost  in  hideous  leathern  cases  that 
reached  half  way  up  his  thighs.  In  place 
of  his  former  high  silk  hat,  there  lay  upon 
the  ground  beside  him  the  awful  thing  he 
had  just  taken  off, — a  mass  of  thickened 
felt,  flap,  feather,  and  buckle  that  weighed 
at  least  a  stone. 


A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT.       491 

A  single  terrible  idea  now  took  posses- 
sion of  him.  He  had  been  "sold,"  "taken 
in,"  "done  for."  He  saw  it  all.  In  a 
state  of  intoxication  he  had  lost  his  way, 
had  been  dragged  into  some  vile  den, 
stripped  of  his  clothes  and  valuables,  and 
turned  adrift  upon  the  quiet  town  in  this 
shameless  masquerade.  How  should  he 
keep  his  appointment?  how  inform  the 
police  of  this  outrage  upon  a  stranger  and 
an  American  citizen  ?  how  establish  his 
identity?  Had  they  spared  his  papers? 
He  felt  feverishly  in  his  breast.  Ah ! — 
his  watch?  Yes,  a  watch — heavy,  jew- 
elled, enamelled — and,  by  all  that  was 
ridiculous,  five  others!  He  ran  his  hands 
into  his  capacious  trunk  hose.  What  was 
this  ?  Brooches,  chains,  finger-rings, — 
one  large  episcopal  one, — ear-rings,  and  a 
handful  of  battered  gold  and  silver  coins. 
His  papers,  his  memorandums,  his  pass- 
port— all  proofs  of  his  identity — were 
gone !  In  their  place  was  the  unmistaka- 
ble omnium  gatherum  of  an  accomplished 
knight  of  the  road.  Not  only  was  his 
personality,  but  his  character,  gone  for- 
ever. 

It  was  a  part  of  Mr.  Clinch's  singular 


492       A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT. 

experience  that  this  last  stroke  of  ill  for- 
tune seemed  to  revive  in  him  something  of 
the  brutal  instinct  he  had  felt  a  moment 
before.  He  turned  eagerly  about  with  the 
intention  of  calling  some  one — the  first 
person  he  met — to  account.  But  the  house 
that  he  had  just  quitted  was  gone.  The 
wall!  Ah,  there  it  was,  no  longer  pur- 
poseless, intrusive,  and  ivy-clad,  but  part 
of  the  buttress  of  another  massive  wall  that 
rose  into  battlements  above  him.  Mr. 
Clinch  turned  again  hopelessly  toward 
Sammtstadt.  There  was  the  fringe  of 
poplars  on  the  Ehine,  there  were  the  out- 
lying fields  lit  by  the  same  meridian  sun ; 
but  the  characteristic  chimneys  of  Sammt- 
stadt were  gone.  Mr.  Clinch  was  hope- 
lessly lost. 

The  sound  of  a  horn  breaking  the  still- 
ness recalled  his  senses.  He  now  for  the 
first  time  perceived  that  a  little  distance 
below  him,  partly  hidden  in  the  trees, 
was  a  queer,  tower-shaped  structure  with 
chains  and  pulleys,  that  in  some  strange 
way  recalled  his  boyish  reading.  A  draw- 
bridge and  portcullis !  And  on  the  battle- 
ment a  figure  in  a  masquerading  dress  as 
r.bsurd  as  his  own,  flourishing  a  banner 


A   LEGEND   OF   8AMMTSTADT. 

and  trumpet,  and  trying  to  attract  his 
attention. 

"Was  wollen  Sie?" 

"I  want  to  see  the  proprietor,"  said 
Mr.  Clinch,  choking  back  his  rage. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  the  figure  turned 
apparently  to  consult  with  some  one  be- 
hind the  battlements.  After  a  moment  he 
reappeared,  and  in  a  perfunctory  mono- 
tone, with  an  occasional  breathing  spell  on 
the  trumpet,  began, — 

"You  do  give  warranty  as  a  good  knight 
and  true,  as  well  as  by  the  bones  of  the 
blessed  St.  Ursula,  that  you  bear  no  ill 
will,  secret  enmity,  wicked  misprise  or  con- 
spiracy, against  the  body  of  our  noble  lord 
and  master  Von  Kolnsche?  And  you 
bring  with  you  no  ambush,  siege,  or  sur- 
prise of  retainers,  neither  secret  warrant 
nor  lettres  de  cachet,  nor  carry  on  your 
knightly  person  poisoned  dagger,  magic 
ring,  witch-powder,  nor  enchanted  bullet, 
and  that  you  have  entered  into  no  unhal- 
lowed alliance  with  the  Prince  of  Dark- 
ness, gnomes,  hexies,  dragons,  Undines, 
Loreleis,  nor  the  like  ?" 

"Come  down  out  of  that,  you  d d 

old  fool!"  roared  Mr.  Clinch,  now  per- 


494       A    LEGEND    OF   8AMMT8TADT. 

fectly  beside  himself  with  rage, — "come 
down,  and  let  me  in !" 

As  Mr.  Clinch  shouted  out  the  last 
words,  confused  cries  of  recognition  and 
welcome,  not  unmixed  with  some  con- 
sternation, rose  from  the  battlements: 
"Ach  Gott!"  "Mutter  Gott— it  is  he!  It 
is  Jann,  Der  Wanderer.  It  is  himself." 
The  chains  rattled,  the  ponderous  draw- 
bridge creaked  and  dropped ;  and  across  it 
a  medley  of  motley  figures  rushed  pell- 
mell.  But,  foremost  among  them,  the  very 
maiden  whom  he  had  left  not  ten  minutes 
before  flew  into  his  arms,  and  with  a  cry 
of  joyful  greeting  sank  upon  his  breast. 
Mr.  Clinch  looked  down  upon  the  fair 
head  and  long  braids.  It  certainly  was 
the  same  maiden,  his  cruel  enchantress; 
but  where  did  she  get  those  absurd  gar- 
ments ? 

"WillJcommen"  said  a  stout  figure,  ad- 
vancing with  some  authority,  and  seizing 
his  disengaged  hand,  "where  hast  thou 
been  so  long?" 

Mr.  Clinch,  by  no  means  placated,  coldly 
dropped  the  extended  hand.  It  was  not 
the  proprietor  he  had  known.  But  there 
was  a  singular  resemblance  in  his  face  to 


A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT.       495 

some  one  of  Mr.  Clinch's  own  kin;  but 
who,  he  could  not  remember.  "May  I 
take  the  liberty  of  asking  your  name  ?"  he 
asked  coldly. 

The  figure  grinned.  "Surely;  but,  if 
thou  standest  upon  punctilio,  it  is  for  me 
to  ask  thine,  most  noble  Freiherr,"  said  he, 
winking  upon  his  retainers.  "Whom  have 
I  the  honor  of  entertaining?" 

"My  name  is  Clinch, — James  Clinch  of 
Chicago,  111." 

A  shout  of  laughter  followed.  In  the 
midst  of  his  rage  and  mortification  Mr. 
Clinch  fancied  he  saw  a  shade  of  pain  and 
annoyance  flit  across  the  face  of  the 
maiden.  He  was  puzzled,  but  pressed  her 
hand,  in  spite  of  his  late  experiences,  re- 
assuringly. She  made  a  gesture  of  silence 
to  him,  and  then  slipped  away  in  the 
crowd. 

"Schames  KTn'sche  von  Schekargo," 
mimicked  the  figure,  to  the  unspeakable 
delight  of  his  retainers.  "So!  That  is 
the  latest  French  style.  Holy  St.  Ursula ! 
Hark  ye,  nephew!  I  am  not  a  travelled 
man.  Since  the  Crusades  we  simple  Rhine 
gentlemen  have  staid  at  home.  But  I  call 
myself  Kolnsche  of  Koln,  at  your  service." 


496       A    LEGEND    OF    SAMMTSTADT. 

"Very  likely  you  are  right,"  said  Mr. 
Clinch  hotly,  disregarding  the  caution  of 
his  fair  companion;  "but,  whoever  you 
are,  /  am  a  stranger  entitled  to  protection. 
I  have  been  robbed." 

If  Mr.  Clinch  had  uttered  an  exquisite 
joke  instead  of  a  very  angry  statement,  it 
could  not  have  been  more  hilariously  re- 
ceived. He  paused,  grew  confused,  and 
then  went  on  hesitatingly, — 

"In  place  of  my  papers  and  credentials 
I  find  only  these."  And  he  produced  the 
jewelry  from  his  pockets. 

Another  shout  of  laughter  and  clapping 
of  hands  followed  this  second  speech ;  and 
the  baron,  with  a  wink  at  his  retainers, 
prolonged  the  general  mirth  by  saying, 
"By  the  way,  nephew,  there  is  little  doubt 
but  there  has  been  robbery — somewhere." 

"It  was  done/'  continued  Mr.  Clinch, 
hurrying  to  make  an  end  of  his  explana- 
tion, "while  I  was  inadvertently  overcome 
with  liquor, — drugged  liquor." 

The  laughter  here  was  so  uproarious 
that  the  baron,  albeit  with  tears  of  laughter 
in  his  own  eyes,  made  a  peremptory  ges- 
ture of  silence.  The  gesture  was  peculiar 
to  the  baron,  efficacious  and  simple.  It 


A    LEQEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT.       497 

consisted  merely  in  knocking  down  the 
nearest  laugher.  Having  thus  restored 
tranquillity,  he  strode  forward,  and  took 
Mr.  Clinch  by  the  hand.  "By  St.  Adolph, 
I  did  doubt  thee  a  moment  ago,  nephew; 
but  this  last  frank  confession  of  thine 
shows  me  I  did  thee  wrong.  Willkommen 
zu  Hause,  Jann,  drunk  or  sober,  willkom- 
men  zu  Cracoiven/' 

More  and  more  mystified,  but  convinced 
of  the  folly  of  any  further  explanation,  Mr. 
Clinch  took  the  extended  hand  of  his  al- 
leged uncle,  and  permitted  himself  to  be 
led  into  the  castle.  They  passed  into  a 
large  banqueting-hall  adorned  with  armor 
and  implements  of  the  chase.  Mr.  Clinch 
could  not  help  noticing,  that,  although  the 
appointments  were  liberal  and  picturesque, 
the  ventilation  was  bad,  and  the  smoke 
from  the  huge  chimney  made  the  air 
murky.  The  oaken  tables,  massive  in 
carving  and  rich  in  color,  were  unmis- 
takably greasy ;  and  Mr.  Clinch  slipped  on 
a  piece  of  meat  that  one  of  the  dozen  half- 
wild  dogs  who  were  occupying  the  room 
was  tearing  on  the  floor.  The  dog,  yelp- 
ing, ran  between  the  legs  of  a  retainer,  pre- 
cipitating him  upon  the  baron,  who  in- 


498       A   LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT. 

stantly,  with  the  "equal  foot"  of  fate, 
kicked  him  and  the  dog  into  a  corner. 

"And  whence  came  you  last  ?"  asked  the 
baron,  disregarding  the  little  contretemps, 
and  throwing  himself  heavily  on  an  oaken 
settle,  while  he  pushed  a  queer,  uncom- 
fortable-looking stool,  with  legs  like  a 
Siamese-twin-connected  double  X,  towards 
his  companion. 

Mr.  Clinch,  who  had  quite  given  himself 
up  to  fate,  answered  mechanically, — 

"Paris." 

The  baron  winked  his  eye  with  unutter- 
able, elderly  wickedness.  "Ach  Gott!  it 
is  nothing  to  what  it  was  when  I  was  your 
age.  Ah!  there  was  Manon, — Sieur 
Manon  we  used  to  call  her.  I  suppose 
she's  getting  old  now.  How  goes  on  the 
feud  between  the  students  and  the  citizens  ? 
Eh  ?  Did  you  go  to  the  lal  in  la  Cite  f 

Mr.  Clinch  stopped  the  flow  of  those 
Justice-Shallow-like  reminiscences  by  an 
uneasy  exclamation.  He  was  thinking  of 
the  maiden  who  had  disappeared  so  sud- 
denly. The  baron  misinterpreted  his  ner- 
vousness. "What  ho,  within  there! — 
Max,  Wolfgang,  —  lazy  rascals !  Bring 


A    LEGEND    OF   8AMMTSTADT.       499 

At  the  baleful  word  Mr.  Clinch  started 
to  his  feet.  "Not  for  me!  Bring  me 
none  of  your  body-and-soul-destroying 
poison !  I've  enough  of  it !" 

The  baron  stared.  The  servitors  stared 
also. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Clinch, 
recalling  himself  slowly ;  "but  I  fear  that 
Rhine  wine  does  not  agree  with  me." 

The  baron  grinned.  Perceiving,  how- 
ever, that  the  three  servitors  grinned  also, 
he  kicked  two  of  them  into  obscurity,  and 
felled  the  third  to  the  floor  with  his  fist. 
"Hark  ye,  nephew,"  he  said,  turning  to 
the  astonished  Clinch,  "give  over,  this  non- 
sense! By  the  mitre  of  Bishop  Hatto, 
thou  art  as  big  a  fool  as  he !" 

"Hatto,"  repeated  Clinch  mechanically. 
"What !  he  of  the  Mouse  Tower?" 

"Ay,  of  the  Mouse  Tower !"  sneered  the 
baron.  "I  see  you  know  the  story." 

"Why  am  I  like  him  2"  asked  Mr.  Clinch 
in  amazement. 

The  baron  grinned.  "He  punished  the 
Rhenish  wine  as  thou  dost,  without  judg- 
ment. He  had — " 

"The  jim-jams,"  said  Mr.  Clinch  me- 
chanically again. 


500       A    LEGEND    OF   8AMMT8TADT. 

The  baron  frowned.  "I  know  not  what 
gibberish  thou  sayest  by  ' jim-jams' ;  but 
he  had,  like  thee,  the  wildest  fantasies  and 
imaginings ;  saw  snakes,  toads,  rats,  in  his 
boots,  but  principally  rats;  said  they  pur- 
sued him,  came  to  his  room,  his  bed — ach 

Gottr 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Clinch,  with  a  sudden 
return  to  his  firmer  self  and  his  native  in- 
quiring habits ;  "then  that  is  the  fact  about 
Bishop  Hatto  of  the  story?" 

"His  enemies  made  it  the  subject  of  a 
vile  slander  of  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  said 
the  baron;  "and  those  cursed  poets,  who 
believe  everything,  and  then  persuade 
others  to  do  so, — may  the  Devil  fly  away 
writh  them! — kept  it  up." 

Here  were  facts  quite  to  Mr.  Clinch's 
sceptical  mind.  He  forgot  himself  and  his 
surroundings. 

"And  that  story  of  the  Drachenf els  ?" 
he  asked  insinuatingly, — "the  dragon,  you 
know.  Was  he  too — " 

The  baron  grinned.  "A  boar  trans- 
formed by  the  drunken  brains  of  the 
Bauers  of  the  Siebengebirge.  Ach  Gott! 
Ottef ried  had  many  a  hearty  laugh  over  it ; 
and  it  did  him,  as  thou  knowest,  good  ser- 


A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMT8TADT.       501 

vice  with  the  nervous  mother  of  the  silly 
maiden." 

"And  the  seven  sisters  of  Schonberg?" 
asked  Mr.  Clinch  persuasively. 

"  'Schonberg !  Seven  sisters !'  What 
of  them?"  demanded  the  baron  sharply. 

"Why,  you  know, — the  maidens  who 
were  so  coy  to  their  suitors,  and — don't 
you  remember  ? — jumped  into  the  Rhine  to 
avoid  them." 

"  'Coy  ?  Jumped  into  the  Ehine  to 
avoid  suitors'  ?"  roared  the  baron,  purple 
with  rage.  "Hark  ye,  nephew!  I  like 
not  this  jesting.  Thou  knowest  I  married 
one  of  the  Schonberg  girls,  as  did  thy 
father.  How  'coy'  they  were  is  neither 
here  nor  there ;  but  mayhap  we  might  tell 
another  story.  Thy  father,  as  weak  a  fel- 
low as  thou  art  where  a  petticoat  is  con- 
cerned, could  not  as  a  gentleman  do  other 
than  he  did.  And  this  is  his  reward? 
Ach  Gott!  'Coy!'  And  iliis,  I  warrant, 
is  the  way  the  story  is  delivered  in  Paris." 

Mr.  Clinch  would  have  answered  that 
this  was  the  way  he  read  it  in  a  guide- 
book, but  checked  himself  at  the  hopeless- 
ness of  the  explanation.  Besides,  he  was 
on  the  eve  of  historic  information ;  he  was, 


502       A   LEGEND   OF   8AMMT8TADT. 

as  it  were,  interviewing  the  past;  and, 
whether  he  would  ever  be  able  to  profit  by 
the  opportunity  or  not,  he  could  not  bear  to 
lose  it.  "And  how  about  the  Lorelei — is 
she,  too,  a  fiction  ?"  he  asked  glibly. 

"It  was  said,"  observed  the  baron  sar- 
donically, "that  when  thou  disappeared 
with  the  gamekeeper's  daughter  at  Ober- 
^assel — Heaven  knows  where! — thou  wast 
swallowed  up  in  a  whirlpool  with  some 
creature.  Ach  Gott!  I  believe  it!  But 
a  truce  to  this  balderdash.  And  so  thou 
wantest  to  know  of  the  'coy'  sisters  of 
Schonberg?  Hark  ye,  Jann,  that  cousin 
of  thine  is  a  Schonberg.  Call  you  her 
'coy'  ?  Did  I  not  see  thy  greeting  ?  Eh  ? 
By  St.  Adolph,  knowing  thee  as  she  does 
to  be  robber  and  thief,  call  you  her  greet- 
ing 'coy'  ?" 

Furious  as  Mr.  Clinch  inwardly  became 
under  these  epithets,  he  felt  that  his  ex- 
planation would  hardly  relieve  the  maiden 
from  deceit,  or  himself  from  weakness. 
But  out  of  his  very  perplexity  and  tur- 
moil a  bright  idea  was  born.  He  turned 
to  the  baron, — 

"Then  you  have  no  faith  in  the  Khine 
legends  ?" 


A   LEGEND   OF   8AMMTSTADT.       503 

The  baron  only  replied  with  a  contempt- 
uous shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"But  what  if  I  told  you  a  new  one  ?" 

"You?" 

"Yes ;  a  part  of  my  experience  ?" 

The  baron  was  curious.  It  was  early 
in  the  afternoon,  just  after  dinner.  He 
might  be  worse  bored. 

"I've  only  one  condition,"  added  Mr. 
Clinch:  "the  young  lady — I  mean,  of 
course,  my  cousin — must  hear  it  too." 

"Oh,  ay!  I  see.  Of  course — the  old 
trick !  Well,  call  the  jade.  But  mark  ye, 
Sir  Nephew,  no  enchanted  maidens  and 
knights.  Keep  to  thyself.  Be  as  thou 
art,  vagabond  Jann  Kolnische,  knight  of 
the  road. — What  ho  there,  scoundrels! 
Call  the  Lady  Wilhemina." 

It  was  the  first  time  Mr.  Clinch  had 
heard  his  fair  friend's  name;  but  it  was 
not,  evidently,  the  first  time  she  had  seen 
him,  as  the  very  decided  wink  the  gentle 
maiden  dropped  him  testified.  Neverthe- 
less, with  hands  lightly  clasped  togethery 
and  downcast  eyes,  she  stood  before  them. 

Mr.  Clinch  began.  Without  heeding  the 
baron's  scornful  grin,  he  graphically  de- 
scribed his  meeting,  two  years  before,  with 


504        A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMT8TADT. 

a  Lorelei,  her  usual  pressing  invitation, 
and  his  subsequent  plunge  into  the  Rhine. 

"I  am  free  to  confess,"  added  Mr. 
Clinch,  with  an  affecting  glance  to  Wil- 
helmina,  "that  I  was  not  enamoured  of  the 
graces  of  the  lady,  but  was  actuated  by  my 
desire  to  travel,  and  explore  hitherto  un- 
known regions.  I  wished  to  travel,  to 
visit—" 

"Paris,"  interrupted  the  baron  sarcas- 
tically. 

"America,"  continued  Mr.  Clinch. 

"What?"— "America." 

"  'Tis  a  gnome-like  sounding  name,  this 
Meriker.  Go  on,  nephew :  tell  us  of  Mer- 
iker." 

With  the  characteristic  fluency  of  his 
nation,  Mr.  Clinch  described  his  landing 
on  those  enchanted  shores,  viz,  the  Rhine 
Whirlpool  and  Hell  Gate,  East  River,  New 
York.  He  described  the  railways,  tram- 
ways, telegraphs,  hotels,  phonograph,  and 
telephone.  An  occasional  oath  broke 
from  the  baron,  but  he  listened  attentively ; 
and  in  a  few  moments  Mr.  Clinch  had  the 
raconteur's  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  vast 
hall  slowly  filling  with  open-eyed  and  open- 
mouthed  retainers  hanging  upon  his  words. 


A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT.       505 

Mr.  Clinch  went  on  to  describe  his  aston- 
ishment at  meeting  on  these  very  shores 
some  of  his  own  blood  and  kin.  "In  fact," 
said  Mr.  Clinch,  "here  were  a  race  calling 
themselves  'Clinch,'  but  all  claiming  to 
have  descended  from  Kolnische." 

"And  how?"  sneered  the  baron. 

"Through  James  Kolnische  and  Wil- 
helmina  his  wife,"  returned  Mr.  Clinch 
boldly.  "They  emigrated  from  Kb'ln  and 
Crefeld  to  Philadelphia,  where  there  is  a 
quarter  named  Crefeld."  Mr.  Clinch  felt 
himself  shaky  as  to  his  chronology,  but 
wisely  remembered  that  it  was  a  chronol- 
ogy of  the  future  to  his  hearers,  and  they 
could  not  detect  an  anachronism.  With 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  those  of  the  gentle 
Wilhelmina,  Mr.  Clinch  now  proceeded  to 
describe  his  return  to  his  fatherland,  but 
his  astonishment  at  finding  the  very  face 
of  the  country  changed,  and  a  city  stand- 
ing on  those  fields  he  had  played  in  as  a 
boy ;  and  how  he  had  wandered  hopelessly 
on,  until  he  at  last  sat  wearily  down  in  a 
humble  cottage  built  upon  the  ruins  of  a 
lordly  castle.  "So  utterly  travel-worn  and 
weak  had  I  become,"  said  Mr.  Clinch, 
with  adroitly  simulated  pathos,  "that  a 


506       A    LEGEND    OF   SAMMTSTADT. 

single  glass  of  wine  offered  me  by  the  sim- 
ple cottage  maiden  affected  me  like  a  pro- 
longed debauch." 

A  long-drawn  snore  was  all  that  followed 
this  affecting  climax.  The  baron  was 
asleep;  the  retainers  were  also  asleep. 
Only  one  pair  of  eyes  remained  open, — 
arch,  luminous,  blue, — Wilhelmina's. 

"There  is  a  subterranean  passage  below 
us  to  Linn.  Let  us  fly !"  she  whispered. 

"But  why?"— "They  always  do  it  in 
the  legends/'  she  murmured  modestly. 

"But  your  father  ?" 

"He  sleeps.    Do  you  not  hear  him  ?" 

Certainly  somebody  was  snoring.  But, 
oddly  enough,  it  seemed  to  be  Wilhelmina. 
Mr.  Clinch  suggested  this  to  her. 

'Tool,  it  is  yourself !" 

Mr.  Clinch,  struck  with  the  idea,  stopped 
to  consider.  She  was  right.  It  certainly 
was  himself. 

With  a  struggle  he  awoke.  The  sun 
was  shining.  The  maiden  was  looking  at 
him.  But  the  castle — the  castle  was  gone ! 

"You  have  slept  well,"  said  the  maiden 
archly.  "Everybody  does  after  dinner  at 
Sammtstadt.  Father  has  just  awakened, 
and  is  coming." 


A    LEGEND    OF    SAMMTSTADT.       507 

Mr.  Clinch  stared  at  the  maiden,  at  the 
terrace,  at  the  sky,  at  the  distant  chimneys 
of  Sammtstadt,  at  the  more  distant  Rhine, 
at  the  table  before  him,  and  finally  at  the 
empty  glass.  The  maiden  smiled.  "Tell 
me,"  said  Mr.  Clinch,  looking  in  her  eyes, 
"is  there  a  secret  passage  underground  be- 
tween this  place  and  the  Castle  of  Linn  ?" 

"An  underground  passage  ?" 

"Ay — whence  the  daughter  of  the  house 
fled  with  a  stranger  knight." 

"They  say  there  is,"  said  the  maiden, 
with  a  gentle  blush. 

"Can  you  show  it  to  me  ?" 

She  hesitated.  "Papa  is  coming:  I'll 
ask  him." 

I  presume  she  did.  At  least  the  Herr 
Consul  at  Sammtstadt  informs  me  of  a 
marriage-certificate  issued  to  one  Clinch  of 
Chicago,  and  Kolnische  of  Koln ;  and  there 
is  an  amusing  story  extant  in  the  Verein  at 
Sammtstadt,  of  an  American  connoisseur 
of  Rhine  wines,  who  mistook  a  flask  of 
Cognac  and  rock-candy,  used  for  "craftily 
qualifying"  lower  grades  of  wine  to  the 
American  standard,  for  the  rarest  Rudes- 
heimerberg. 


VIEWS  FEOM  A  GEBMAN  SPIOK 


OUTSIDE  of  my  window,  two  narrow 
perpendicular  mirrors,  parallel  with  the 
casement,  project  into  the  street,  yet  with  a 
certain  unobtrusiveness  of  angle  that  en- 
ables them  to  reflect  the  people  who  pass, 
without  any  reciprocal  disclosure  of  their 
own.  The  men  and  women  hurrying  by 
not  only  do  not  know  they  are  observed, 
but,  what  is  worse,  do  not  even  see  their 
own  reflection  in  this  hypocritical  plane, 
and  are  consequently  unable,  through  its 
aid,  to  correct  any  carelessness  of  garb, 
gait,  or  demeanor.  At  first  this  seems  to 
be  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  the  hu- 
man animal,  who  invariably  assumes  an  at- 
titude when  he  is  conscious  of  being  under 
human  focus.  But  I  observe  that  my 
neighbors'  windows,  right  and  left,  have 
a  similar  apparatus,  that  this  custom  is  ev- 
idently a  local  one,  and  the  locality  is  Ger- 
508 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  8PION.    609 

man.  Being  an  American  stranger,  I  am 
quite  willing  to  leave  the  morality  of  the 
transaction  with  the  locality,  and  adapt 
myself  to  the  custom:  indeed,  I  had 
thought  of  offering  it,  figuratively,  as  an 
excuse  for  any  unfairness  of  observation  I 
might  make  in  these  pages.  But  my  Ger- 
man mirrors  reflect  without  prejudice,  se- 
lection, or  comment;  and  the  American 
eye,  I  fear,  is  but  mortal,  and  like  all  mor- 
tal eyes,  figuratively  as  well  as  in  that  lit- 
eral fact  noted  by  an  eminent  scientific 
authority,  infinitely  inferior  to  the  work  of 
the  best  German  opticians. 

And  this  leads  me  to  my  first  observa- 
tion, namely,  that  a  majority  of  those  who 
pass  my  mirror  have  weak  eyes,  and  have 
already  invoked  the  aid  of  the  optician. 
Why  are  these  people,  physically  in  all  else 
so  much  stronger  than  my  countrymen,  de- 
ficient in  eyesight  ?  Or,  to  omit  the  pass- 
ing testimony  of  my  Spion,  and  take  my 
own  personal  experience,  why  does  my 
young  friend  Max,  brightest  of  all  school- 
boys, who  already  wears  the  cap  that  de- 
notes the  highest  class, — why  does  he  shock 
me  by  suddenly  drawing  forth  a  pair  of 
spectacles,  that  upon  his  fresh,  rosy  face 


510    VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN  SPION. 

would  be  an  obvious  mocking  imitation  of 
the  Herr  Papa — if  German  children  could 
ever,  by  any  possibility,  be  irreverent  ?  Or 
why  does  the  Fraulein  Marie,  his  sister, 
pink  as  Aurora,  round  as  Hebe,  suddenly 
veil  her  blue  eyes  with  a  golden  lorgnette 
in  the  midst  of  our  polyglot  conversation  ? 
Is  it  to  evade  the  direct,  admiring  glance 
of  the  impulsive  American?  Dare  I  say 
No?  Dare  I  say  that  that  frank,  clear, 
honest,  earnest  return  of  the  eye,  which 
has  on  the  Continent  most  unfairly  brought 
my  fair  countrywomen  under  criticism,  is 
quite  as  common  to  her  more  carefully- 
guarded,  tradition-hedged  German  sisters  ? 
No,  it  is  not  that.  Is  it  any  thing  in  these 
emerald  and  opal  tinted  skies,  which  seem 
so  unreal  to  the  American  eye,  and  for  the 
first  time  explain  what  seemed  the  unreal- 
ity of  German  art?  in  these  mysterious 
yet  restful  Ehine  fogs,  which  prolong  the 
twilight,  and  hang  the  curtain  of  romance 
even  over  mid-day?  Surely  not.  Is  it 
not  rather,  O  Herr  Professor  profound  in 
analogy  and  philosophy ! — is  it  not  rather 
this  abominable  black-letter,  this  else- 
where-discarded, uncouth,  slowly-decaying 
text  known  as  the  German  Alphabet,  that1 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION.    511 

plucks  out  the  bright  eyes  of  youth,  and 
bristles  the  gateways  of  your  language  with 
a  chevaux  de  frise  of  splintered  rubbish? 
Why  must  I  hesitate  whether  it  is  an  acci- 
dent of  the  printer's  press,  or  the  poor 
quality  of  the  paper,  that  makes  this  letter 
a  "fc"  or  a  "t"  ?  Why  must  I  halt  in  an 
emotion  or  a  thought  because  "s"  and  "/" 
are  so  nearly  alike  ?  Is  it  not  enough  that 
I,  an  impulsive  American,  accustomed  to 
do  a  thing  first,  and  reflect  upon  it  after- 
wards, must  grope  my  way  through  a  blind 
alley  of  substantives  and  adjectives,  only 
to  find  the  verb  of  action  in  an  obscure  cor- 
ner, without  ruining  my  eyesight  in  the 
groping  ? 

But  I  dismiss  these  abstract  reflections 
for  a  fresh  and  active  resentment.  This  is 
the  fifth  or  sixth  dog  that  has  passed  my 
Spion,  harnessed  to  a  small  barrow-like 
cart,  and  tugging  painfully  at  a  burden 
so  ludicrously  disproportionate  to  his  size, 
that  it  would  seem  a  burlesque,  but  for  the 
poor  dog's  sad  sincerity.  Perhaps  it  is  be- 
cause I  have  the  barbarian's  fondness  for 
dogs,  and  for  their  lawless,  gentle,  loving 
uselessness,  that  I  rebel  against  this  un- 
natural servitude.  It  seems  as  monstrous 


512    VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION. 

as  if  a  child  were  put  between  the  shafts, 
and  made  to  carry  burdens;  and  I  have 
come  to  regard  those  men  and  women,  who 
in  the  weakest  perfunctory  way  affect  to 
aid  the  poor  brute  by  laying  idle  hands  on 
the  barrow  behind,  as  I  would  unnatural 
parents.  Pegasus  harnessed  to  the 
Thracian  herdsman's  plough  was  no  more 
of  a  desecration.  I  fancy  the  poor  dog 
seems  to  feel  the  monstrosity  of  the  per- 
formance, and,  in  sheer  shame  for  his  mas- 
ter, forgivingly  tries  to  assume  it  is  play; 
and  I  have  seen  a  little  "colley"  running 
along,  barking,  and  endeavoring  to  leap 
and  gambol  in  the  shafts,  before  a  load 
that  any  one  out  of  this  locality  would 
have  thought  the  direst  cruelty.  Nor  do 
the  older  or  more  powerful  dogs  seem  to 
become  accustomed  to  it.  When  his  cruel 
taskmaster  halts  with  his  wares,  instantly 
the  dog,  either  by  sitting  down  in  his  har- 
ness, or  crawling  over  the  shafts,  or  by 
some  unmistakable  dog-like  trick,  utterly 
scatters  any  such  delusion  of  even  the  habit 
of  servitude.  The  few  of  his  race  who  do 
not  work  in  this  ducal  city  seem  to  have 
lost  their  democratic  canine  sympathies, 
and  look  upon  him  with  something  of  that 


VIEWS  FROM  A    GERMAN   SPION.    513 

indifferent  calm  with  which  yonder  officer 
eyes  the  road-mender  in  the  ditch  below 
him.  He  loses  even  the  characteristics  of 
species.  The  common  cur  and  mastiff  look 
alike  in  harness.  The  burden  levels  all 
distinctions.  I  have  said  that  he  was  gen- 
erally sincere  in  his  efforts.  I  recall  but 
one  instance  to  the  contrary.  I  remember 
a  young  colley  who  first  attracted  my 
attention  by  his  persistent  barking. 
Whether  he  did  this,  as  the  plough-boy 
whistled,  "for  want  of  thought /'or  whether 
it  was  a  running  protest  against  his  occu- 
pation, I  could  not  determine,  until  one 
day  I  noticed,  that,  in  barking,  he  slightly 
threw  up  his  neck  and  shoulders,  and  that 
the  two-wheeled  barrow-like  vehicle  behind 
him,  having  its  weight  evenly  poised  on  the 
wheels  by  the  trucks  in  the  hands  of  its 
driver,  enabled  him  by  this  movement  to 
cunningly  throw  the  center  of  gravity  and 
the  greater  weight  on  the  man, — a  fact 
which  that  less  sagacious  brute  never  dis- 
cerned. Perhaps  I  am  using  a  strong  ex- 
pression regarding  his  driver.  It  may  be 
that  the  purely  animal  wants  of  the  dog,  in 
the  way  of  food,  care,  and  shelter,  are  more 
bountifully  supplied  in  servitude  than  in 


514    VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION. 

freedom;  becoming  a  valuable  and  useful 
property,  he  may  be  cared  for  and  pro- 
tected as  such  (an  odd  recollection  that 
this  argument,  had  been  used  forcibly  in 
regard  to  human  slavery  in  my  own  coun- 
try strikes  me  here)  ;  but  his  picturesque- 
ness  and  poetry  are  gone,  and  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that  the  people  who  have  lost 
this  gentle,  sympathetic,  characteristic 
figure  from  their  domestic  life  and  sur- 
roundings have  not  acquired  an  equal  gain 
through  his  harsh  labors. 

To  the  American  eye  there  is,  through- 
out the  length  and  breadth  of  this  foreign 
city,  no  more  notable  and  striking  object 
than  the  average  German  house-servant. 
It  is  not  that  she  has  passed  my  Spion  a 
dozen  times  within  the  last  hour, — for 
here  she  is  messenger,  porter,  and  com- 
missionnaire,  as  well  as  housemaid  and 
cook, — but  that  she  is  always  a  phenome- 
non to  the  American  stranger,  accustomed 
to  be  abused  in  his  own  country  by  his 
foreign  Irish  handmaiden.  Her  presence 
is  as  refreshing  and  grateful  as  the  morn- 
ing light,  and  as  inevitable  and  regular. 
When  I  add  that  with  the  novelty  of  being 
well  served  is  combined  the  satisfaction  of 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION.    515 

knowing  that  you  have  in  your  household 
an  intelligent  being  who  reads  and  writes 
with  fluency,  and  yet  does  not  abstract 
your  books,  nor  criticise  your  literary  com- 
position; who  is  cleanly  clad,  and  neat 
in  her  person,  without  the  suspicion  of 
having  borrowed  her  mistress's  dresses; 
who  may  be  good-looking  without  the  least 
imputation  of  coquetry  or  addition  to  her 
followers;  who  is  obedient  without  ser- 
vility, polite  without  flattery,  willing  and 
replete  with  supererogatory  performance, 
without  the  expectation  of  immediate 
pecuniary  return,  what  wonder  that  the 
American  householder  translated  into  Ger- 
man life  feels  himself  in  a  new  Eden  of 
domestic  possibilities  unrealized  in  any 
other  country,  and  begins  to  believe  in  a 
present  and  future  of  domestic  happiness ! 
What  wonder  that  the  American  bachelor 
living  in  German  lodgings  feels  half  the 
terrors  of  the  conjugal  future  removed, 
and  rushes  madly  into  love — and  house- 
keeping! What  wonder  that  I,  a  long- 
suffering  and  patient  master,  who  have 
been  served  by  the  reticent  but  too  imita- 
tive Chinaman ;  who  have  been  "Massa"  to 
the  childlike  but  untruthful  negro;  who 
v.  24  Q— Bret  Harte 


616    VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION. 

have  been  the  recipient  of  the  brotherly  but 
uncertain  ministrations  of  the  South-Sea 
Islander,  and  have  been  proudly  disre- 
garded by  the  American  aborigine,  only 
in  due  time  to  meet  the  fate  of  my  country- 
men at  the  hands  of  Bridget  the  Celt, — 
what  wonder  that  I  gladly  seize  this  oppor- 
tunity to  sing  the  praises  of  my  German 
handmaid!  Honor  to  thee,  Lenchen, 
wherever  thou  goest !  Heaven  bless  thee 
in  thy  walks  abroad !  whether  with  that 
tightly-booted  cavalryman  in  thy  Sunday 
gown  and  best,  or  in  blue  polka-dotted 
apron  and  bare  head  as  thou  trottest 
nimbly  on  mine  errands, — errands  which 
Bridget  O'Flaherty  would  scorn  to  under- 
take, or,  undertaking,  would  hopelessly 
blunder  in.  Heaven  bless  thee,  child,  in 
thy  early  risings  and  in  thy  later  sittings, 
at  thy  festive  board  overflowing  with  Essig 
and  Pett,  in  the  mysteries  of  thy  Kuchen, 
in  the  fulness  of  thy  Bier,  and  in  thy 
nightly  suffocations  beneath  mountainous 
and  multitudinous  feathers!  Good,  hon- 
est, simple-minded,  cheerful,  duty-loving 
Lenchen!  Have  not  thy  brothers,  strong 
and  dutiful  as  thou,  lent  their  gravity  and 
earnestness  to  sweeten  and  strengthen  the 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION.    517 

fierce  youth  of  the  Republic  beyond  the 
seas  ?  and  shall  not  thy  children  inherit  the 
broad  prairies  that  still  wait  for  them,  and 
discover  the  fatness  thereof,  and  send  a 
portion  transmuted  in  glittering  shekels 
back  to  thee  ? 

Almost  as  notable  are  the  children  whose 
round  faces  have  as  frequently  been  re- 
flected in  my  Spion.  Whether  it  is  only 
a  fancy  of  mine  that  the  average  German 
retains  longer  than  any  other  race  his 
childish  simplicity  and  unconsciousness,  or 
whether  it  is  because  I  am  more  accus- 
tomed to  the  extreme  self-assertion  and 
early  maturity  of  American  children,  I 
know  not ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
among  no  other  people  is  childhood  as 
perennial,  and  to  be  studied  in  such  charac- 
teristic and  quaint  and  simple  phases  as 
here.  The  picturesqueness  of  Spanish  and 
Italian  childhood  has  a  faint  suspicion  of 
the  pantomime  and  the  conscious  attitudin- 
izing of  the  Latin  races.  German  children 
are  not  exuberant  or  volatile:  they  are 
serious, — a  seriousness,  however,  not  to  be 
confounded  with  the  grave  reflectiveness  of 
age,  but  only  the  abstract  wonderment  of 
childhood;  for  all  those  who  have  made  a 


518    VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION. 

loving  study  of  the  young  human  animal 
will,  I  think,  admit  that  its  dominant  ex- 
pression is  gravity,  and  not  playfulness, 
and  will  be  satisfied  that  he  erred  pitifully 
who  first  ascribed  "light-heartedness"  and 
"thoughtlessness"  as  part  of  its  phenom- 
ena. These  little  creatures  I  meet  upon 
the  street,  —  whether  in  quaint  wooden 
shoes  and  short  woollen  petticoats,  or 
neatly  booted  and  furred,  with  school  knap- 
sacks jauntily  borne  upon  little  square 
shoulders,  —  all  carry  likewise  in  their 
round  chubby  faces  their  profound  wonder- 
ment and  astonishment  at  the  big  busy 
world  into  which  they  have  so  lately 
strayed.  If  I  stop  to  speak  with  this  little 
maid  who  scarcely  reaches  to  the  top-boots 
of  yonder  cavalry  officer,  there  is  less  of 
bashful  self-consciousness  in  her  sweet 
little  face  than  of  grave  wonder  at  the 
foreign  accent  and  strange  ways  of  this 
new  figure  obtruded  upon  her  limited  hori- 
zon. She  answers  honestly,  frankly,  pret- 
tily, but  gravely.  There  is.  a  remote  pos- 
sibility that  I  might  bite;  and,  with  this 
suspicion  plainly  indicated  in  her  round 
blue  eyes,  she  quietly  slips  her  little  red 
hand  from  mine,  and  moves  solemnly 


VIEWS  FROM  A    GERMAN  8PION.    519 

away.  I  remember  once  to  have  stopped 
in  the  street  with  a  fair  countrywoman  of 
mine  to  interrogate  a  little  figure  in  sabots, 
— the  one  quaint  object  in  the  long,  formal 
perspective  of  narrow,  gray  bastard-Ital- 
ian fagaded  houses  of  a  Rhenish  German 
Strasse.  The  sweet  little  figure  wore  a 
dark-blue  woollen  petticoat  that  came  to 
its  knees;  gray  woollen  stockings  covered 
the  shapely  little  limbs  below ;  and  its  very 
blonde  hair,  the  color  of  a  bright  dande- 
lion, was  tied  in  a  pathetic  little  knot  at 
the  back  of  its  round  head,  and  garnished 
with  an  absurd  green  ribbon.  Now,  al- 
though this  gentlewoman's  sympathies 
were  catholic  and  universal,  unfortunately 
their  expression  was  limited  to  her  own 
mother-tongue.  She  could  not  help  pour- 
ing out  upon  the  child  the  maternal  love 
that  was  in  her  own  womanly  breast,  nor 
could  she  withhold  the  "baby-talk"  through 
which  it  was  expressed.  But,  alas !  it  was 
in  English.  Hence  ensued  a  colloquy, 
tender  and  extravagant  on  the  part  of  the 
elder,  grave  and  wondering  on  the  part  of 
the  child.  But  the  lady  had  a  natural 
feminine  desire  for  reciprocity,  particu- 
larly in  the  presence  of  our  emotion-scorn- 


520    VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION. 

ing  sex,  and  as  a  last  resource  she  emptied 
the  small  silver  of  her  purse  into  the  lap 
of  the  coy  maiden.  It  was  a  declaration 
of  love,  susceptible  of  translation  at  the 
nearest  cake-shop.  But  the  little  maid, 
whose  dress  and  manner  certainly  did  not 
betray  an  habitual  disregard  of  gifts  of 
this  kind,  looked  at  the  coin  thoughtfully, 
but  not  regretfully.  Some  innate  sense  of 
duty,  equally  strong  with  that  of  being  po- 
lite to  strangers,  filled  her  consciousness. 
With  the  utterly  unexpected  remark  that 
her  father  did  not  allow  her  to  take  money, 
the  queer  little  figure  moved  away,  leaving 
the  two  Americans  covered  with  mortifi- 
cation. The  rare  American  child  who 
could  have  done  this  would  have  done  it 
with  an  attitude.  This  little  German 
bourgeoise  did  it  naturally.  I  do  not  in- 
tend to  rush  to  the  deduction  that  German 
children  of  the  lower  classes  habitually  re- 
fuse pecuniary  gratuities:  indeed,  I  re- 
member to  have  wickedly  suggested  to  my 
companion,  that,  to  avoid  impoverishment 
in  a  foreign  land,  she  should  not  repeat  the 
story  nor  the  experiment.  But  I  simply 
offer  it  as  a  fact,  and  to  an  American,  at 
home  or  abroad,  a  novel  one. 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION.    521 

I  owe  to  these  little  figures  another  ex- 
perience quite  as  strange.  It  was  at  the 
close  of  a  dull  winter's  day, — a  day  from 
which  all  out-of-door  festivity  seemed  to 
be  naturally  excluded :  there  was  a  baleful 
promise  of  snow  in  the  air  and  a  dismal 
reminiscence  of  it  under  foot,  when  sud- 
denly, in  striking  contrast  with  the  dread- 
ful bleakness  of  the  street,  a  half  dozen 
children,  masked  and  bedizened  with  cheap 
ribbons,  spangles,  and  embroidery,  flashed 
across  my  Spion.  I  was  quick  to  under- 
stand the  phenomenon.  It  was  the  Car- 
nival season.  Only  the  night  before  I  had 
been  to  the  great  opening  masquerade, — a 
famous  affair,  for  which  this  art-loving 
city  is  noted,  and  to  which  strangers  are 
drawn  from  all  parts  of  the  Continent.  I 
remember  to  have  wondered  if  the  pleas- 
ure-loving German  in  America  had  not 
broken  some  of  his  conventional  shackles 
in  emigration;  for  certainly  I  had  found 
the  Carnival  balls  of  the  "Lieder  Kranz 
Society"  in  New  York,  although  decorous 
and  fashionable  to  the  American  taste,  to 
be  wild  dissipations  compared  with  the 
practical  seriousness  of  this  native  per- 
formance, and  I  hailed  the  presence  of 


522    VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   8PION. 

these  children  in  the  open  street  as  a 
promise  of  some  extravagance,  real,  un- 
trammelled, and  characteristic.  I  seized 
my  hat  and — -overcoat, — a  dreadful  in- 
congruity to  the  spangles  that  had  whisked 
by,  and  followed  the  vanishing  figures 
round  the  corner.  Here  they  were  re- 
enforced  by  a  dozen  men  and  women,  fan- 
tastically, but  not  expensively  arrayed, 
looking  not  unlike  the  supernumeraries  of 
some  provincial  opera  troupe.  Following 
the  crowd,  which  already  began  to  pour  in 
from  the  side-streets,  in  a  few  moments  I 
was  in  the  broad,  grove-like  allee,  and  in 
the  midst  of  the  masqueraders. 

I  remember  to  have  been  told  that  this 
was  a  characteristic  annual  celebration  of 
the  lower  classes,  anticipated  with  eager- 
ness, and  achieved  with  difficulty,  indeed, 
often  only  through  the  alternative  of  pawn- 
ing clothing  and  furniture  to  provide  the 
means  for  this  ephemeral  transformation. 
T  remember  being  warned,  also,  that  the 
buffoonery  was  coarse,  and  some  of  the 
slang  hardly  fit  for  "ears  polite."  But  I 
am  afraid  that  I  was  not  shocked  at  the 
prodigality  of  these  poor  people,  who  pur- 
chased a  holiday  on  such  hard  conditions ; 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION.    523 

and,  as  to  the  coarseness  of  the  perform- 
ance, I  felt  that  I  certainly  might  go  where 
these  children  could. 

At  first  the  masquerading  figures  ap- 
peared to  be  mainly  composed  of  young 
girls  of  ages  varying  from  nine  to  eigh- 
teen. Their  costumes — if  what  was  often 
only  the  addition  of  a  broad,  bright-colored 
stripe  to  the  hem  of  a  short  dress  could  be 
called  a  costume — were  plain,  and  seemed 
to  indicate  no  particular  historical  epoch 
or  character.  A  general  suggestion  of  the 
peasant's  holiday  attire  was  dominant  in 
all  the  costumes.  Everybody  was  closely 
masked.  All  carried  a  short,  gayly- 
striped  baton  of  split  wood,  called  a 
Pritsche,  which,  when  struck  sharply  on 
the  back  or  shoulders  of  some  spectator  or 
sister-masker,  emitted  a  clattering,  rasping 
sound.  To  wander  hand  in  hand  down 
this  broad  dllee,  to  strike  almost  mechani- 
cally, and  often  monotonously,  at  each 
other  with  their  batons,  seemed  to  be  the 
extent  of  that  wild  dissipation.  The 
crowd  thickened.  Young  men  with  false 
noses,  hideous  masks,  cheap  black  or  red 
cotton  dominoes,  soldiers  in  uniform, 
crowded  past  each  other,  up  and  down  the 


524    VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION. 

promenade,  all  carrying  a  Pritsche,  and 
exchanging  blows  with  each  other,  but  al- 
ways with  the  same  slow  seriousness  of  de- 
meanor, which,  with  their  silence,  gave  the 
performance  the  effect  of  a  religious  rite. 
Occasionally  some  one  shouted:  perhaps  a 
dozen  young  fellows  broke  out  in  song; 
but  the  shout  was  provocative  of  nothing, 
the  song  faltered  as  if  the  singers  were 
frightened  at  their  own  voices.  One  blithe 
fellow,  with  a  bear's  head  on  his  fur- 
capped  shoulders,  began  to  dance;  but,  on 
the  crowd  stopping  to  observe  him  seri- 
ously, he  apparently  thought  better  of  it, 
and  slipped  away.  Nevertheless,  the 
solemn  beating  of  Pritschen  over  each 
other's  backs  went  on.  I  remember  that 
I  was  followed  the  whole  length  of  the 
allee  by  a  little  girl  scarcely  twelve  years 
old,  in  a  bright  striped  skirt  and  black 
mask,  who  from  time  to  time  struck  me 
over  the  shoulders  with  a  regularity  and 
sad  persistency  that  was  peculiarly  irre- 
sistible to  me ;  the  more  so,  as  I  could  not 
help  thinking  that  it  was  not  half  as  amus- 
ing to  herself.  Once  only  did  the  ordinary 
brusque  gallantry  of  the  Carnival  spirit 
show  itself.  A  man  with  an  enormous 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION.    525 

pair  of  horns,  like  a  half-civilized  satyr, 
suddenly  seized  -a  young  girl  and  en- 
deavored to  kiss  her.  A  slight  struggle 
ensued,  in  which  I  fancied  I  detected  in 
the  girl's  face  and  manner  the  confusion 
and  embarrassment  of  one  who  was  obliged 
to  overlook,  or  seem  to  accept,  a  familiarity 
that  was  distasteful,  rather  than  be  laughed 
at  for  prudishness  or  ignorance.  But  the 
incident  was  exceptional.  Indeed,  it  was 
particularly  notable  to  my  American  eyes 
to  find  such  decorum  where  there  might 
easily  have  been  the  greatest  license.  •  I 
am  afraid  that  an  American  mob  of  this 
class  would  have  scarcely  been  as  orderly 
and  civil  under  the  circumstances.  They 
might  have  shown  more  humor;  but  there 
would  have  probably  been  more  effrontery: 
they  might  have  been  more  exuberant ; 
they  would  certainly  have  been  drunker. 
I  did  not  notice  a  single  masquerader  un- 
duly excited  by  liquor:  there  was  not  a 
word  or  motion  from  the  lighter  sex  that 
could  have  been  construed  into  an  impro- 
priety. There  was  something  almost  pa- 
thetic to  me  in  this  attempt  to  wrest  gayety 
and  excitement  out  of  these  dull  materials ; 
to  fight  against  the  blackness  of  that  wintry 


526    VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION. 

sky,  and  the  stubborn  hardness  of  the 
frozen  soil,  with  these  painted  sticks  of 
wood ;  to  mock  the  dreariness  of  their  pov- 
erty with  these  flaunting  raiments.  It 
did  not  seem  like  them,  or  rather,  con- 
sistent with  my  idea  of  them.  There  was 
incongruity  deeper  than  their  bizarre  ex- 
ternals; a  half -melancholy,  half -crazy  ab- 
surdity in  their  action,  the  substitution  of 
a  grim  spasmodic  frenzy  for  levity,  that 
rightly  or  wrongly  impressed  me.  When 
the  increasing  gloom  of  the  evening  made 
their  figures  undistinguishable,  I  turned 
into  the  first  cross-street.  As  I  lifted  my 
hat  to  my  persistent  young  friend  with  the 
Pritsche,  I  fancied  she  looked  as  relieved 
as  myself.  If,  however,  I  was  mistaken; 
if  that  child's  pathway  through  life  be 
strewn  with  rosy  recollections  of  the  unre- 
sisting back  of  the  stranger  American ;  if 
any  burden,  O  Gretchen!  laid  upon  thy 
young  shoulders,  be  lighter  for  the  trifling 
one  thou  didst  lay  upon  mine, — know, 
then,  that  I,  too,  am  content. 

And  so,  day  by  day,  has  my  Spion  re- 
flected the  various  changing  forms  of  life 
before  it.  It  has  seen  the  first  flush  of 
spring  in  the  broad  aZZee,when  the  shadows 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   8PION.    527 

of  tiny  leaflets  overhead  were  beginning  to 
checker  the  cool,  square  flagstones.  It  has 
seen  the  glare  and  fulness  of  summer  sun- 
shine and  shadow,  the  flying  of  November 
gold  through  the  air,  the  gaunt  limbs,  and 
stark,  rigid,  death-like  whiteness  of  winter. 
It  has  seen  children  in  their  queer,  wicker 
baby-carriages,  old  men  and  women,  and 
occasionally  that  grim  usher  of  death,  in 
sable  cloak  and  cocked  hat, — a  baleful 
figure  for  the  wandering  invalid  tourist  to 
meet, — who  acts  as  undertaker  for  this 
ducal  city,  and  marshals  the  last  melan- 
choly procession.  I  well  remember  my 
first  meeting  with  this  ominous  function- 
ary. It  was  an  early  autumnal  morning; 
so  early,  that  the  long  formal  perspective 
of  the  alUe,  and  the  decorous,  smooth 
vanishing-lines  of  cream-and-gray  fronted 
houses,  were  unrelieved  by  a  single  human 
figure.  Suddenly  a  tall  black  spectre,  as 
theatrical  and  as  unreal  as  the  painted 
scenic  distance,  turned  the  corner  from  a 
cross-street,  and  moved  slowly  towards  me. 
A  long  black  cloak,  falling  from  its 
shoulders  to  its  feet,  floated  out  on  either 
side  like  sable  wings ;  a  cocked  hat  trimmed 
with  crape,  and  surmounted  by  a  hearse- 


528    VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION. 

like  feather,  covered  a  passionless  face; 
and  its  eyes,  looking  neither  left  nor  right, 
were  fixed  fatefully  upon  some  distant 
goal.  Stranger  as  I  was  to  this  Conti- 
nental ceremonial  figure,  there  was  no  mis- 
taking his  functions  as  the  grim  messenger, 
knocking  "with  equal  foot"  on  every  door ; 
and,  indeed,  so  perfectly  did  he  act  and 
look  his  role,  that  there  was  nothing  ludic- 
rous in  the  extraordinary  spectacle.  Facial 
expression  and  dignity  of  bearing  were 
perfect;  the  whole  man  seemed  saturated 
with  the  accepted  sentiment  of  his  office. 
Recalling  the  half-confused  and  half-con- 
scious ostentatious  hypocrisy  of  the  Ameri- 
can sexton,  the  shameless  absurdities  of  the 
English  mutes  and  mourners,  I  could  not 
help  feeling,  that,  if  it  were  demanded  that 
Grief  and  Fate  should  be  personified,  it 
were  better  that  it  should  be  well  done. 
And  it  is  one  observation  of  my  Spion, 
that  this  sincerity  and  belief  is  the  charac- 
teristic of  all  Continental  functionaries. 

It  is  possible  that  my  Spion  has  shown 
me  little  that  is  really  characteristic  of  the 
people,  and  the  few  observations  I  have 
made  I  offer  only  as  an  illustration  of  the 
impressions  made  upon  two-thirds  of 


VIEWS  FROM  A   GERMAN   SPION.    529 

American  strangers  in  the  larger  towns  of 
Germany.  Assimilation  goes  on  more  rap- 
idly than  we  are  led  to  imagine.  As  I 
have  seen  my  friend  Karl,  fresh  and  awk- 
ward in  his  first  uniform,  lounging  later 
down  the  allee  with  the  blase  listlessness 
of  a  full-blown  militaire,  so  I  have  seen 
American  and  English  residents  gradually 
lose  their  peculiarities,  and  melt  and  merge 
into  the  general  mass.  Returning  to  my 
Spion  after  a  flying  trip  through  Belgium 
and  France,  as  I  look  down  the  long  per- 
spective of  the  Strasse,  I  am  conscious  of 
recalling  the  same  style  of  architecture  and 
humanity  at  Aachen,  Brussels,  Lille,  and 
Paris,  and  am  inclined  to  believe  that,  even 
as  I  would  have  met,  in  a  journey  of  the 
same  distance  through  a  parallel  of  the 
same  latitude  in  America,  a  greater  di- 
versity of  type  and  character,  and  a  more 
distinct  flavor  of  locality,  even  so  would  I 
have  met  a  more  heterogeneous  and  pic- 
turesque display  from  a  club  window  on 
Fifth  Avenue,  New  York,  or  Montgomery 
Street,  San  Francisco. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


50m-l,'69(J5643s8)2373— 3A,1 


PS1829.C7  1907 


3  2106  00206  9810 


